


live vicariously through me (so i have some reason to keep living)

by despitethewives (choirboyharem)



Category: Video Blogging RPF, supermega
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Emotional Manipulation, Father/Son Incest, Grooming, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Religious Guilt, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:54:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29237919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choirboyharem/pseuds/despitethewives
Summary: When the guy steps forward, Matt’s arms jerk up, fingers curling into defensive fists as he covers his face. “Pleasedon’thitmepleasedon’thitmepleasedon’t—”“Hey, wait a sec.” The guy stops short and Matt thinks he’s about to get knifed to death right in the middle of this party. “You’re the kid from that YouTube channel, right? I recognize you. Kids with Problems.”Matt lowers his arms, but his guard still hasn’t totally gone down. “You—you know me?”“Yeah, sure I do. Well, I mean, I know of you. I’ve seen your stuff. It’s really funny, man. Your sketches are fuckin’ great.” The guy reaches down and offers his hand. “I’m Ryan.”
Relationships: Matt Watson & Jackson Tucker, Ryan Magee/Matt Watson
Comments: 28
Kudos: 37





	1. a party

**Author's Note:**

> this is one of the few multichapter fics i've ever written and it definitely might be the only one i've ever written with an actual plot (if you can call it that). i'm praying i keep a streak going and i actually manage to finish it! 
> 
> if you know my other work, you know shit's gonna get weird, but this is honestly tame compared to that work. that being said, however, it's still pretty disgusting. please mind the tags.

In the first week of May on a Thursday afternoon, Michelle Charr asks Matt to go to a college party. Michelle is one of Sam’s friends and she’s about six years older than him and she’s very, very cool. And she likes him. For whatever reason, she seems to like him. 

“You should come,” she’d said, smiling at him while he was playing Katamari in the living room, trying to tune out her and Sam’s conversation about boring bullshit that he didn’t care about. Michelle is cool, but Sam isn’t. 

“Come where?” he asked vaguely. He only had two minutes left before the clock would stop. 

“To my party. At CSU. This Friday.” 

Matt doesn’t get asked to parties that aren’t thrown by his friends. He’d never gotten invited to a college party before that moment and it was so confusing that he figured it was a practical joke. “Yeah, sure, Mich,” he muttered. “I’ll be there.”

“I’m serious. I think you could make a lot of friends. You could meet girls.”

“What? Really?” Matt’s voice faltered as he paused the game, turning his head. Michelle giggled and Sam rolled her eyes. “You’re not fucking around? You want me there?” 

“Yeah, I do.” Michelle brushed her bangs back, tucking them behind her ear. Matt’s eyes followed the motion like he was transfixed. “A couple of my friends are inviting some guys from your school anyway, so it’s not like you’re gonna be totally alone.”

“Oh, come on, Mich, you can’t,” Sam complained. “That’s messed up. He’s only—”

“Only what?” Matt said, narrowing his eyes. “What, you think I can’t go to a party? I’m not a goddamn kid.” 

“Mom and Dad are gonna kill you and you’re gonna deserve it. It’s a  _ college party, _ dumbass; there’s gonna be people drinking and having sex in the bathroom and being gross—”

“Oh my God, Sam, he’s gonna be fine! He’s gonna be  _ fine. _ I’ll make sure he’s okay. I can even just, like, pick him up and make sure he doesn’t get lost or drink or do anything stupid.”

“I’m not fucking  _ dumb,  _ Mich,” Sam started. 

“Could’ve fooled me,” Matt said instantly, unable to keep the grin off his face as he turned back to the TV. “I’ll be there.” 

And so he would be. Michelle picks him up at seven and he tells his parents that he’s going to a youth group meeting and he’s sleeping over at a friend’s house afterwards. The plan is to sneak into his own bedroom after the party, fall asleep for a few hours, wake back up before everyone else in the house, sneak back out, and then come back home at an acceptable time in the morning. Matt’s all too used to sneaking in and out of the house on the weekends, but it’s still such a headache to go through the motions of it every single time. 

“You look cute,” Michelle tells him once he gets in the car. 

“Oh, uh, thanks.” Matt giggles, actually giggles as he looks down at himself, and he hates himself for it. Michelle laughs and it makes Matt turn red. 

Michelle is majoring in biochemistry and minoring in psych. She talks about it like Matt can understand her, like he’s not going to art school when he’s eighteen. He doesn’t get what she’s talking about, but he likes listening to her. 

“So what do you do?” Michelle asks when the conversation trails off. It startles Matt. “You play video games, right?”

“Uh, yeah. But that’s not all I do.” Why does everyone in his life assume that he only plays video games and he doesn’t do anything else with his time? “I make YouTube videos with my friends, like, sketch comedy and stuff. I act. And I do music.” 

“What kind of music?” 

“I’ve been experimenting a lot with a bunch of stuff,” Matt says, vague enough so he doesn’t have to tell her about the thousand or so cold-ass bars he tries to drop in into the voice recorder on his phone on the weekends, buried deep in his closet so no one else in the house will be able to hear him. “I do a lot of lo-fi shit. I’ve been trying to get my voice to where it needs to be.”

“Yeah, it’s kind of in an awkward stage right now, right?”

“Wh—is it?” Matt asks, faltering. “I-I mean, I guess, but…” 

Michelle laughs. “I’m just messing with you. Sorry. I’m gonna be real, I haven’t ever had a guy as young as you in the car with me before. Not like this.” 

Matt feels a little twinge of self-importance. He thinks it makes his dick grow a little bit longer and he instantly forgets about Michelle making fun of the obvious crack that his voice still gets. “Like this?” 

“Yeah.” She tosses him a bright smile, her lip gloss glittering in the low light. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, definitely.” 

“You’re still a virgin, right?”

Matt’s stomach drops and his blush returns with a fury. “Uh,” he squeaks. “I, um. Y-yeah. I mean, like, I’ve been kissed before, but I’ve never, um. I’ve never had sex.” 

Michelle stops the car on the other side of the street from a noisy house. Light and people and life and sound spill out of the windows and doors with cars strewn wherever they can fit. Matt suddenly feels fear so real and so strong that his stomach drops even further, twisting and turning in his stomach until it makes him feel sick. 

Michelle cuts the engine and tucks her hair behind her ear like she did last Thursday. “How far have you ever gone with a girl before?” 

Matt can’t fucking talk. His tongue has been fastened to the roof of his mouth. He tries to unstick it, his mouth moving dryly. “Uh—not far. Just, like. Kissing. Barely anything. I tried making out with a girl at my eighth grade graduation and it was too weird.” 

“You wanna fool around before we go in?” Michelle asks, her eyes sparkling. 

Matt feels dizzy. He should say yes, obviously, because it would be really stupid not to. He definitely wants this. He knows he does. Michelle is cute and she’s cool and she’s in  _ college.  _ A  _ college girl  _ likes him enough to want to make out with him. It’s just so hard to get any words out. 

“Okay,” Matt finally whispers. 

Michelle giggles and pulls herself forward, tumbling into Matt’s lap. She pushes him against the passenger window and she’s everywhere at once and she’s soft and she smells like sticky-sweet alcoholic vanilla and Matt can’t fucking breathe or think or do anything at all. 

Michelle slips her fingers through Matt’s hair and kisses him soundly, pushing her tongue in his mouth. Matt’s heart pounds so loud he’s sure she can hear it. He gingerly puts his hands on her back and tries to kiss her back even while he tries not to hyperventilate. 

It feels hot and stuffy and wet and suffocating. Michelle feels like she’s trying to eat him, nipping at his lip and chasing his tongue. It should feel good, it’s supposed to feel good, and on some level Matt thinks it is, because there’s something about it that’s kind of nice. But it’s not fun. “Kind of nice” isn’t fun. It’s, well. When Matt gets used to having Michelle in his lap, it’s kind of boring. 

Her hands roam and one of them slips between his legs. She feels around until she finds his dick and curls her fingers around it and Matt  _ should _ be freaking out more about that. A girl is touching his dick. A college girl is touching his dick and that should be the best fucking thing in the entire world. He should think that is absolutely awful. 

But the more she touches him, the less exciting it gets. 

Matt finally pulls away, gasping for air. Michelle lifts her hand. “I-I think we should go in,” he says. “It’s getting late.” 

Michelle pouts. “It’s not even eight yet! Matt, come on, I know you like me. You’re always  _ so _ obvious about it whenever I’m over. Sam knows you like me. Please?” She reaches down and strokes her slim little fingers over the inseam of his jeans. Matt shivers and flushes deeper, but he doesn’t get hard. He just feels uncomfortable. 

“Maybe later?” Matt tries, taking Michelle’s wrist and gently pulling her hand away. “Sorry, I think I’m just nervous.” 

“Fine,” she huffs, reaching into her pocket and reapplying her lip gloss. Matt absently runs his tongue over his bottom lip and realizes that he tastes like cotton candy now. He wonders if his mouth is glittery, too. 

*

Rather than stick by his side like she said she would, Michelle tells him, “I’m gonna get you a drink, okay?” and disappears the second Matt blinks. 

Matt is in his glasses and his bad in-between haircut that’s in the middle of growing out and his short-sleeved button-down that he got on clearance at Forever 21 and he’s stranded in the middle of a college party where no one knows that he even exists. He doesn’t know why he’s here. He tastes the gloss on his lips again and feels a strange burn in the back of his throat as he turns, trying to find Michelle again. 

No one seems to notice him. Students surround him as they surround each other, absorbed in their individual conversations. Everyone’s drinking. Matt can smell weed and cigarette smoke in the air, mingling with artificial fruit from probably dozens of vapes. He wonders in the back of his head whose house this is and how anyone would be able to stand this many strangers being in it, because it’s just not possible to know  _ this many people.  _

He turns again. Michelle is still gone and none of the backs of heads with dark, wavy hair seem to match hers. Matt tries to maneuver around clusters of people, wedging himself between them all, trying not to step on anyone’s toes as he walks towards… somewhere. A bathroom might be nice. 

He finally sees her across the room with a cup in each hand, completely ignoring him and talking to some guy that Matt can only see the back of. Matt’s face twists in frustration and sheer irritation as he starts to approach her, narrowly avoiding clusters and not looking where he’s going. 

“Michelle! Hey, Mich, you left me! You left me alone—” Matt gets so wrapped up in the tirade he’s planning to unleash that he doesn’t notice the low table he’s about to crash into. His foot catches on the tabletop and he’s flung forward into the guy Michelle is entertaining, knocking him into Michelle in turn. She shrieks as the contents of the Solo cups spill almost entirely on the guy, soaking the front of his shirt. 

Matt groans and pushes himself up on his elbows, sick with terror as the guy turns to see who just ruined his night. The guy isn’t any taller than Matt, but he’s much bigger. His hair is thick and dark and long enough that he has it pulled back in a knot and he has a beard that makes him look that much more intimidating. He looks pissed and he also looks like he could beat the absolute shit out of Matt and Matt feels like he’s going to pee in his pants right there on the floor of the party. 

When the guy steps forward, Matt’s arms jerk up, fingers curling into defensive fists as he covers his face. “Pleasedon’thitmepleasedon’thitmepleasedon’t—”

“Hey, wait a sec.” The guy stops short and Matt thinks he’s about to get knifed to death right in the middle of this party. “You’re the kid from that YouTube channel, right? I recognize you. Kids with Problems.” 

Matt lowers his arms, but his guard still hasn’t totally gone down. “You—you know me?”

“Yeah, sure I do. Well, I mean, I know  _ of _ you. I’ve seen your stuff. It’s really funny, man. Your sketches are fuckin’ great.” The guy reaches down and offers his hand. “I’m Ryan.” 

Someone thinks Matt is funny. A total adult stranger that Matt inadvertently spilled drinks all over thinks that he’s funny. Matt accepts Ryan’s hand and Ryan pulls him up off the floor like Matt is a paper doll.

“You ruined my fucking shirt!” Michelle’s voice is shrill and it briefly distracts a few onlookers. “Matt, what the hell happened? What did you  _ do?” _

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I just tripped! I didn’t mean to, I can get you a new shirt!” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Ryan dismisses, looking at Michelle and smirking. “You did her a favor.”

Michelle looks aghast. “Fuck you, asshole. Makes sense that you’re friends with that creep Jackson.” She shoves past him and glares at Matt. “I’m only giving you a ride later ‘cause I promised Sam. Go find someone else to cocktease for the rest of the night and find me in, like, a few hours.” 

Matt feels stricken as he watches her leave, her chin high. Ryan snickers. “What a bitch. What’d she call you, a cocktease? What’s her problem?”

“I, uh, yeah, she is kind of a bitch, isn’t she?” There’s a meanspirited thrill that goes through Matt when he calls her that. “I, like, I turned her down earlier and she got pissed.” 

“Good on you, king,” Ryan says, nudging Matt’s shoulder with his knuckles. “Hey, do you want a drink?”

“Are you gonna leave me here in the middle of the party and then start hitting up some random guy I don’t know?”

Ryan laughs a real laugh this time and grabs Matt’s arm, pulling him along. “Come on.” 

Matt goes easily, unable to stop himself from smiling. 

*

“So you don’t go to CSU?” 

“Uh, no. Not old enough.” Matt gives Ryan a sheepish grin. “I dunno, maybe in a few years.”

Ryan gives him a funny look. “How old are you?” 

“Fifteen.”

“Oh, shit.” Ryan chuckles a little, looking away. “Fifteen, Jesus. I knew you looked young, but…” He takes a long sip of his beer. “What’re you doing here in the first place?”

“Michelle took me. The girl you were talking to. I think I’m only here ‘cause she wanted to hook up with me,” Matt says, realizing when he says it that it’s not very flattering after all. 

“Seriously? Just throwing some poor fifteen-year-old kid into the middle of a college party with no supervision? God, dude, she  _ is _ a bitch. Listen, don’t even let her drive you back home. You know what?  _ I’ll _ drive you home. This’ll be my last beer. You, however, should be drinking more, because as long as you’re here, you better take advantage of it.”

“Really? You’ll drive me home?”

Ryan nods towards the bottle in Matt’s hand. “As long as you do as I say, Matthew. I can call you Matthew, right? S’at what that’s short for?” 

“Yeah. You can call me whatever you want,” Matt blurts out.

Ryan laughs again, loud and chittery and infectious. Matt turns red as he smiles, slumping against the wall, looking away as he obligingly drinks. The warmness he feels is very out of the ordinary.

*

“So what are  _ you _ doing here?” Matt thinks to ask when he’s three beers deep, still cringing from the horrible carbonated piss taste, but he’s growing to tolerate it. The bottles are cold and he feels full and pleasantly heavy. And Ryan hasn’t left his side the entire time. That’s what matters. 

“Oh, I’m just here with a friend. That’s him next to the stereo, talking to the chick in the crop top there,” Ryan says, giving a jerk of his head towards the friend in question. He’s got kind of a seventies porno thing going on with his wire-framed glasses and his mustache. “Good ol’ Jackson. He’s friends of friends with people here. It wasn’t like I had anything better to do tonight.”

“He’s the one that Mich called a creep, right?” 

Ryan scoffs. “Yeah, people have just taken some shit that he’s said and done out of context. He’s a really good guy. Just doesn’t have the best reputation. Like me,” he adds, giving Matt a wink.

Matt snorts, looking back over at him. “What have  _ you _ done?”

“Ah-ah, we’re not at that level yet, Matt. You unlock that after at least stage four. We’re barely even in stage one right now.”

“Stage one of what?” 

Ryan shrugs. “Whatever it is that we’ve got goin’ on right now.”

Matt doesn’t know what that is. He’s never been great at reading people. “Like, friends? Are we friends?”

“Yeah, maybe. I think we could be. Maybe you shouldn’t tell many people that we are, though. Some people might think it’s weird.”

“Why? I think you’re cool. We’re just friends. Just talking. Having a conversation. What’s weird about that?”

“People always talk.” Ryan seems to focus on nothing in particular, looking into the crowd around them. “It’s not weird and it doesn’t have to be. It’s everyone else that makes it weird. I’ve had way too many shitty experiences with people talking and then fucking me over just ‘cause they don’t understand. Too comfortable with their confirmation bias to think about what it is they’re criticizing for two seconds.” 

Matt doesn’t exactly know what Ryan is talking about, but he can definitely understand where he’s coming from. “Yeah, people talk,” he mumbles. “I know how that feels.”

“Yeah.” Ryan looks him up and down. “Yeah, Matt, I bet you do.” 

*

“I’ve never gotten drunk before.” Matt shakes his head and swallows a burp, making an awful little sound like he’s going to throw up. It scares him for a second. Taking in all that air at once makes him hiccup. “I’ve, like, never. Never. No one’s ever let me drink before.” 

Ryan grins at him. “How’s it feel, huh? You like it?”

“I think so.” Matt giggles and lolls his head back against the wall. His glasses fall off balance. “I think I gotta go piss. I tried to find a bathroom earlier just to, uh, escape and shit, just get outta here, I was gettin’ sensory overload, but I couldn’t find one.” 

“You want me to help you?” 

“Would you do that, Ryan?” Matt’s voice gushes a lot more than it should. “Would you help me? A friend would do that, right?”

“A friend  _ would _ do that. A friend would take care of a friend.”

“So we’re friends now?” 

“We can be friends now, Matthew. C’mere.” Ryan takes the fourth empty bottle from Matt’s hand and places it on a shelf before hooking his arm under Matt’s shoulders, pulling him upright. Matt’s sure he can walk on his own, but it’s so nice to have the extra support. “Real quick, we’re gonna introduce you to Jackson first, okay?” 

“Oh, shit, that’s awesome,” Matt says, beaming. “More friends.”

“Hell yeah, man, you got it. More friends. You need more friends, don’t you? More grown-up friends.”

“Yeah, for real, I’ve only got high school friends. Which are still cool. I love my friends. But it’s cooler to have older friends.” 

“Of course it is.” Ryan easily maneuvers him between people until he’s close enough to get Jackson’s attention. “Hey, Tucker!”

Jackson turns his head, startled. “Oh, hey. And… hey,” he says, eyeing Matt in mutual confusion and amusement. “Who’s the kid?” 

“This is the famous Matt Watson from Kids with Problems. You know that, like, fucked-up abusive dad sketch I showed you? He was the dad.” 

“Oh, alright. Hey, famous Matt Watson.”

“Hey, famous Jackson,” Matt replies, his tongue sticking on each S clumsily. “Ryan and I are friends now.” 

“Yeah, I bet you are. Ryan, real quick.” Jackson clicks his tongue and points at Matt. “How old is he?”

“Why?” Ryan asks. “Like, does it matter?”

Jackson dubiously raises an eyebrow. “Judging by that answer, I’d say it probably does.” He sighs and looks at Ryan like he’s tired. “Just don’t do anything dumb. Like,  _ I-could-get-caught  _ kind of dumb.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. I was just gonna say I’m gonna take him home in a little while. I’ll pay for an Uber if you want. I wasn’t gonna strand you here.” 

“Yeah, that’s cool. Quick question: how’d he get here in the first place? Is someone gonna miss him?”

“She probably is, but she doesn’t deserve him. She’s got mousy hair and a shirt covered in Kool-Aid if you see her. If she saw you talking to me and she comes up and asks about him, tell her to go kick rocks, alright?” 

“Sure thing. Hey, are you taking him  _ home _ home or taking him back to his place?”

“I’m taking him where he needs to be.” 

“Got it. Just… don’t hurt him or anything, okay?”

“Christ, you’re gonna scare him. You’ll be fine,” Ryan reassures Matt, whose head is swimming too much for him to make sense of this conversation. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be scared of. Ryan’s side is warm and plush. “I’ll see you later. Text me, alright?” 

“Yeah, no problem. Goodnight, famous Matt Watson. Don’t let the bad, nasty Ryan badtouch you.”

“I won’t, famous Jackson.” Matt waves dopily. Ryan snorts and begins to drag him away. 

*

“I thought you were gonna take me to the bathroom,” Matt says, feeling dazed as Ryan sits him down on a couch in the presumed living room. There are two girls across from them on the couch laughing together at TikToks. An obnoxious couple in the corner molests each other and murmurs shit that’s only interesting to the two of them in each other’s ears. There’s a guy who’s completely lost in his phone, sitting on the floor against the wall. 

Matt notices everything except for himself. He barely notices it when Ryan slips another bottle of beer in his open hand, because it’s the intersection of himself and the world around him. 

“Drink that up, Matty, okay?” Ryan pats Matt on the arm. “Gotta get you all loosey-goosey. We gotta make sure you’re having a good time.”

“I gotta piss, Ryan.” 

“I’m sure you do. Just hold it for a little longer.”

Matt giggles again. “I dunno if I can, dude.”

“Sure you can. You can do it. I know you can.” 

Matt grumbles and takes a swig of his fifth beer. 

*

“I—music,” Matt says loudly. The sound in here is boxing his ears. He can’t hear anything properly. “I do  _ music. _ I’m writing an EP.”

“You do music? What kind of music?” Ryan’s holding his thigh. At some point, Ryan’s hand had wound up there and every little nerve ending Matt has seems to be telling him at once that it’s there.  _ Hey! Hey! Do you see it? Can you feel it? A man is touching your thigh and every once in a while, his fingers stroke your jeans a little bit! Why aren’t you going fucking ballistic!?  _

And Matt  _ is, _ but the rest of him takes so long to catch up. He’s underwater. Whenever he accidentally makes eye contact with anyone else, he feels like a fish at an aquarium. It’s a good thing no one besides Ryan is trying to talk to him, because anything else would feel like they were poking the glass. 

“I do, uh, I rap. Or I try to. I’m trying to be a rapist. A  _ rappist,” _ Matt immediately corrects himself even while Ryan dissolves into laughter beside him. “A  _ rapper. _ Like, a rapper. I rap sometimes. And I do lo-fi pop, you know, it’s easy to produce.”

“I hope you become a successful rapist someday, Matt. You produce all your own music?”

“Yeah, like, it’s not like I got  _ money, _ y’know? I’m gonna have money once it takes off. And I’m gonna be a fuckin’, like, I’m gonna be a famous actor and shit. I’m gonna be everything. I wanna be an entertainer. Even if I’m ugly and annoying and stuff, I still wanna—” Matt burps and he tastes every single thing he ate that day. He has to swallow down a bunch of bile and it makes him wince. “Fuck. I still wanna entertain people. Make my dad proud.”

“I definitely don’t think you’re ugly and I also definitely don’t think you’re annoying. You know what I think, Matt?”

Matt turns his head, wiping spit off his limp mouth with the back of his hand. “What?”

“I think you’re precious. I think you’re adorable.” 

Matt smiles bright and wide, his heart fluttering. “Aw, thanks, man. That’s nice. You think I’m cute?”

“I do,” Ryan says with a charmed half-smile on his face. “I think you’re super cute.”

“Cute? Cute, like, in a way where I sound like a kid or cute in a way where I’m pretty?” 

“Both.” 

Matt frowns. “You think I still sound like a kid?”

“I like it,” Ryan says emphatically, rubbing the inside of Matt’s thigh. His nerve endings start flipping out. “Makes me wanna take care of you. You’re a pretty boy, aren’t you?”

That makes Matt’s mouth go dry. He doesn’t want to think about why it makes him feel the way it does, but it makes him feel… something. It’s a problem he doesn’t have a name for. “I guess,” he says, because he can’t think of anything else to say. “Am I?” 

“Yeah.” Ryan easily slips his hand further up Matt’s thigh until he’s just barely touching the inseam. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Matt knows that this is weird, that this guy he barely knows is feeling him up on a stranger’s couch, but his body’s so responsive to it that he can’t think that it’s  _ that _ weird. “I think you’re really pretty, Matt. Has anyone ever told you that before?”

“No,” Matt whispers. He keeps losing his voice. “I don’t think so.” 

“That’s a shame. Someone should.” Ryan pulls his hand away. “You wanna head home now, baby boy?” 

“I’m a baby boy?” Matt asks dazedly. 

“Tonight you are.” 

*

“You can walk, can’t you?”

Matt can’t answer that question. Mainly because he doesn’t want to lie to his new best friend. Somewhere along the way, Ryan went from being his new friend to being his new best friend and that is because he said yes when Matt asked him if he wanted to come over so he could watch Matt play Katamari Damacy all afternoon. He thinks they have a date. Or, like, the friendship equivalent of that. You can’t use the term “playdate” past third grade. He thinks it would just be classified as “hanging out”, but that seems too casual for the kind of energy they’re emitting right now. 

Ryan pulls him off the couch and hooks an arm under his shoulders again. Matt realizes he can’t walk, actually, or at least can’t walk very well and he doesn’t want to chance it. He tucks himself into Ryan’s side and lets himself be manhandled out of the house. 

He spots Michelle just before they head out the door. She’s glowering at her phone and, thankfully, she doesn’t look up to see him before he leaves. He’s really hoping this won’t make things weird between her and Sam because even if Sam is a bitch and he hates her, she’s still his big sister and he loves her. 

As soon as they’ve stepped out, Ryan picks him up off the ground and carries him bridal-style. Matt squeals in surprise, clutching at the side of Ryan’s neck, his stomach rolling over like he’s just gone over a dip in a roller coaster. Despite being so drunk, he feels so light, lighter than air, lighter than helium. 

The sudden shift in momentum makes him feel a stab of desperation. “Ryan, I still gotta piss,” Matt slurs out. “Like, so bad.” 

“Wait till we get home, okay?” Ryan says firmly. “I got you.” He heads for one of the cars parked at an awkward angle near the house, carrying Matt like he weighs less than nothing. Compared to Ryan, he probably does. 

“How’s this so easy for you?” Matt asks, clinging to Ryan’s hoodie. It’s so soft and the way it rubs between his fingers is nice. 

“Practice,” Ryan says simply. “Lots of practice picking up skinny little fucked-up bitches like you. I’m gonna put you down now, okay? Just hold onto me.” 

“‘Kay.” Matt clings tight and laughs when Ryan sets him on the road. The whole world sways. “Whoa, dude, shit. S’like I’m in Jell-O.” 

“Is it, Matt?” Ryan says, his tone mild. “I’m gonna help you into the car. Just work with me.”

“I can work.” Matt falls back into Ryan and lets out a wheezy laugh. “Hi.” 

“Uh-huh.” Ryan all but heaves Matt into the passenger’s seat and slams the door. The sound is so loud that Matt whines and rubs his ears. 

Matt closes his eyes briefly and, when he opens them again, Ryan is starting the car. Matt looks around like he’s never been in a car before. “Where’re we going? You said wait till  _ we _ get home.”

“I sure did. You’re coming home with me.”

“Huh? Wait, why?” Matt doesn’t think he’s as freaked out about that as he should be. Maybe there’s a good reason that he has to come home with Ryan. “Like, I told my parents I was sleeping over somewhere, but…”

“And now you can sleep over with me. I’m not gonna let you go home this drunk, Matthew. We’ll sober you up first.”

“Yeah. Ryan, I really—I gotta pee so bad.” 

“Calm down,” Ryan says, sounding genuinely annoyed. “My place isn’t far. Stop whining.” 

Matt shuts up instantly and tries to subdue the feeling by grinding his heel against his crotch. It barely helps, but at least it’s a distraction. 

*

Ryan is less talkative during the drive. Matt finds himself closing his eyes and singing to himself, switching between different songs whenever he gets tired of the one that came before it. Some parts of the songs are interesting right now and others are boring, so he sings something different whenever he gets bored. 

“Ryan?”

“Mm-hm?”

“D’you still think I’m cute?”

“Yeah, I do,” Ryan says, glancing into the rearview mirror. “I think you’re also kind of an annoying little shit, but your cuteness outweighs that. But, like, also, you know, it’s mostly my fault, ‘cause drunk teenagers in general are a huge pain in the ass.”

“Then why’d you let me have so much beer?”

“I wanted you to have a good time. Did you have a good time?”

Matt tries to think this over. “I think so.” 

“Well, then, that’s why. I’m taking care of you, Matt.” 

“Thanks, Ryan,” Matt says sleepily. He hums under his breath as Ryan responds, but Matt doesn’t really hear it. 

*

Matt thinks he falls asleep. When he wakes back up, he suddenly has the terrible feeling that everything is about to go wrong, because the car is no longer moving and the terrible pressure on Matt’s bladder is about to break without his consent. 

“Home sweet home,” Ryan says cheerfully, slipping his keys into his pocket and opening the driver’s door. “Hang on, I’ll pick you up again.”

“I’m—I’m gonna—Ryan,” Matt whines, opening his own door and stumbling out. He makes a cursory attempt to press his legs together, the heels of his palms shoved into his jeans, tears jumping to his eyes. “Help, I c-can’t—”

It starts before he even realizes it. Burning head to foot with utter humiliation, Matt lets out a sob as a wet spot spreads over his crotch. It runs down his legs and soaks his socks. His fingers get wet because his body won’t let him pull them away. 

He’s fifteen. He’s fifteen years old and he ruined his nice clothes and he feels like he’s back in preschool where he was crying in the hallway because he’d refused to use the loud, scary self-flushing toilets. He feels like a little kid and he’s embarrassed and he’s in the middle of a dark neighborhood he doesn’t know and a near-stranger is watching him have this breakdown and he wants to fucking  _ die. _

“Aw, poor little Matt,” Ryan cooes at him, rubbing his shoulder. Matt hangs his head and sniffles, unable to look at him. “Can’t hold your liquor, can you?” 

“M’sorry, m’sorry, I didn’t mean to,” Matt croaks through a sore, aching throat. “I-I didn’t. Fuck.”

“It’s okay, baby. We’ll get you home and then we’ll clean you up. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

*

The walk up to Ryan’s apartment has to be some kind of punishment from God for either smoking weed in the bathroom at school last month or jerking off to stepdaddy porn. Ryan only lives on the second floor, but walking anywhere for any length of time in piss-soaked jeans that get colder with every step is a kind of hell that Matt wouldn’t inflict on anybody. 

“My dog might bark, but he’s not gonna hurt you,” Ryan tells him as he unlocks the apartment door. “He doesn’t bite.” 

“S’fine,” Matt says faintly. He doesn’t know if he has a choice in much of anything right now. Things just seem to continue happening. 

Ryan steps through and Matt follows, clinging to him. The lights come on. A large, white, fluffy shape zooms at them, whining and yipping. 

“Hey, big boy, you miss me?” Ryan kneels down and throws his arms around the dog’s neck, nuzzling its fur. It licks Ryan’s face rapidly. “Matt, this is Lego. He’s my other roommate.”

“Hi, Lego,” Matt says wearily. Lego wedges himself out from under Ryan and sniffs every spot of Matt he can reach, his tail wagging. 

“Aw, Matt, look, he likes you. He can tell when people are sweet. He likes sweet people.” Ryan rubs the top of Lego’s head and kisses it before getting to his feet. “Now let’s get you in the shower before you start to smell too bad.”

*

Matt feels better when he steps into the shower. The water heals his skin, washes everything away. He can’t think much more clearly, but the sound of the water offers some relief from the noise. White noise is better than mental noise. 

He steps out shivering. It’s freezing in this place. He hugs himself as he looks around the bathroom, blinking in a haze. He briefly catches his own reflection in a cracked mirror, his unfocused eyes trying to see something that can’t be seen without his glasses. He sees a shape he doesn’t recognize. 

He spends a second trying to analyze it, but then he remembers how cold he is. 

“Ryan?” he says, poking his head out of the door. “Can I have a towel?” 

“Sure can. Top cabinet,” Ryan replies from some unknown location, his voice faraway. 

Matt shuffles out of the bathroom with his hair still dripping wet, his balance still completely fucked. He swerves and sways on his way to the open door at the end of the hallway, chasing the light that spills out. His shoulders tremble and his glasses slip down his nose. 

Ryan lounges in the middle of an unmade bed, phone in hand, his floor littered with clothes and trash, his desk a miserable mess crammed with empty cups and cans and bottles. Matt leans against the doorframe because he needs the support. 

“Hey, I’m done,” Matt says rather uselessly, because, yeah, obviously, he is. “I didn’t know what to do with my clothes.”

“Just leave ‘em. I’ll throw them in the washer in the morning.” Ryan looks up from his phone and takes in Matt’s tiny, slender form, still wet and cold, both hands grabbing at either arm like he needs to hide his bare chest. 

There’s something incredibly fucking weird about standing in nothing but a towel in a grown man’s bedroom. Matt doesn’t know why it didn’t hit him until now. 

“I can find you some clothes,” Ryan finally says, looking down and shutting his phone off. “Give me a sec.”

“Thanks. I dunno if your clothes are gonna fit me.” 

“We’ll make them work.” Ryan pushes himself up off the bed and opens up a dresser drawer that’s already cracked, dull color spilling out of it. He riffles through it until he finds a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of shorts, tossing them on top of the dresser. “There’s your fit for tomorrow. Problem solved.”

Matt blinks. “What about, like, clothes for right now?”

“You don’t need clothes for right now,” Ryan says casually, pushing the drawer back in. 

“Oh,” Matt says. He’s confused. He doesn’t know what Ryan means by that. 

Ryan stretches back out on the bed, folding his hands behind his head. “Matt, baby, c’mere a minute.”

_ Baby.  _ That’s the second time Ryan has called him ‘baby’ tonight and it makes Matt’s guts liquify. “...okay.” Still clutching at himself, Matt makes his way to the bed, swallowing. He doesn’t know what Ryan wants, but he has this feeling in the pit of his stomach like it’s something big and important. 

“Come on. Come sit down. That’s it.” Ryan sits up and reaches out to cup Matt’s cheek in his hand. “Look at those gorgeous baby blues,” he murmurs. “Prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

Matt can’t breathe. With Ryan looking at him like he’s something special and touching him all gentle like that, Matt can’t breathe at all. “Thanks,” he whispers. “Th-thank you.”

Ryan’s fingers slip around to the back of Matt’s neck, brushing the wet hair that tickles his hand. With one fluid movement, he’s pressing their lips together, sliding his hand underneath Matt’s towel. 

This feels so much different than Michelle kissing him. It feels so much different than Emily Shroder kissing him at his eighth grade graduation. Matt instantly feels like his body is on vibrate, a strange, fluttery fever spreading out from the middle of his chest. Ryan isn’t kissing him with only his tongue, not really; it’s kind of gentle as Ryan licks his lips, prying him open. Despite being drunk, despite barely being touched, barely being  _ kissed, _ Matt is suddenly hard. 

_ Oh fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. _ Matt’s gay. God fucking damnit, he’s gay, he drank a lot and he pissed his pants and now he’s gay. Matt jerks away, his breath shaking. “Wait,” he says weakly. “I can’t. I’m not, this isn’t, I can’t.” He feels like he’s going to start crying again. “I’m not gay. I can’t be gay. My dad’s gonna kill me.” His voice dissolves into a whimper, like his father can overhear him right now. “He’s gonna call me a queer. I’m gonna go to Hell. 

“Your dad doesn’t have to know shit, okay? Fuck your dad. Not literally. But fuck your dad. Your dad  _ won’t _ know shit, because you’re not gonna tell  _ anyone _ about this, okay, Matthew?” Ryan presses a warm, open kiss to the side of Matt’s jaw, rubbing a thumb along the crease of his thigh under his towel. “No one has to know. I’m giving you a chance to try something new and no one has to know that you did it. You’re safe.” 

Matt has to admit that Ryan is making a compelling argument. And the kisses on his face and the light touches on his bare skin feel so good and they make him so sensitive that it’s killing his anxiety the second it tries to rise to the surface. 

No one has to know. Besides, Matt might not even remember this tomorrow. He’s really drunk, right? Yeah. He probably won’t remember. This’ll be fine. Straight guys experiment in high school. They experiment in college. He can try this and he’ll realize he doesn’t like it and then everything will go back to normal. 

Matt decides to kiss Ryan on the mouth again, because even if he’s not gay, he  _ really _ likes that. 

Matt’s hands guide themselves much more easily with Ryan than they had with Michelle. They just reach out for anything solid. He holds onto Ryan’s shoulders, his tongue sliding over Ryan’s all wet and slick and hot. Ryan nips at his lip at the same time that he sinks his hand into Matt’s hip, fingernails digging in just slightly, and Matt hears himself make the most unfamiliar sound against Ryan’s mouth. He thinks it’s a moan. 

“I’ve wanted you all fucking night,” Ryan breathes, giving Matt another kiss before unfurling his towel, tossing it to the floor. “Sweet little lips, tiny little body. Laughing at everything I said. Letting me touch you in front of all those people you didn’t know. You really are a fucking cocktease.” Ryan edges Matt back until Matt loses his balance, tumbling back against the mattress, his breath hitching. Being horizontal and completely naked turns this from one thing to another thing immediately, despite the fact that they were already kind of there to begin with.  _ This is real this is happening this is literally actually happening right fucking now.  _

“Ryan,” Matt says helplessly, unsure of what he’s going to say at all, but Ryan doesn’t give him a chance to talk to begin with. Ryan covers his mouth with another kiss and slips between his legs, pleasantly heavy against Matt, drawing Matt’s wrist up and holding it down against the bed. Matt feels a full-body shudder go down his spine when he feels the length of Ryan’s cock pressing against his thigh. Christ, it feels big. And, fuck, double-Christ, is that going to go  _ inside  _ him? 

Matt’s about to lose his virginity. It’s such a stark realization that his heart starts pounding rapidly, his skin flushing anew. He gasps and arches up when Ryan bites his neck, sinking his teeth in just enough that Matt thinks it’s supposed to hurt, but his body just tells him he likes it instead. “Ryan,” he manages, twisting the back of Ryan’s shirt in his hand. “A-are you gonna fuck me?”

“You finally figure that out? Good for you. Yeah, I was planning on it.” Ryan straightens up and pulls his hoodie off, kicking his shorts to the floor after he climbs out of bed. Matt is unable to not stare at him, his insides twisting in on himself at how rough and masculine Ryan looks. “You’ve never had sex before, have you, Matt?” 

“How come two different people asked me that tonight? _ No, _ I’ve never had sex.” 

“Hm. Doesn’t show,” Ryan remarks, opening up the bedside table drawer. “I’ll be nice. Nicer than usual.”

Even though Matt’s naked and hard and apprehensive and anxious on a male stranger’s bed, he still feels so,  _ so _ sleepy. The beer that he hadn’t managed to piss out is dragging his eyelids down. Maybe it’s the fact that Ryan’s bed is nice and worn-in, spicy and cozy, fitting to a human shape. Matt closes his eyes for half a second. “Why aren’t you nice all the time?” he mumbles. 

“Good question. My youth pastor asked me the same thing once. Just don’t feel like it, I guess. Go on and spread those legs a little wider for me, baby,” Ryan says, and Matt opens his eyes again. 

Ryan’s sitting near the foot of the bed, uncapping a crumpled tube. “Oh,” Matt utters, doing as Ryan says. He swallows hard. “Is this gonna hurt?”

Ryan makes a face like “I don’t wanna say yes, but yes”. “Maybe a little ‘cause it’s your first time. But not for long. Don’t worry and just relax.” 

“That’s—tha’ seems hard.” Matt’s tongue is still sticky. He’s still sleepy. He can’t shake this strange, milky, swimming stupor and he knows he should be so much more nervous than he is. He remembers falling asleep in the car and how great that was. 

There’s suddenly slick, wet fingers pressing against his asshole and that wakes him up a little. It wakes him up even more when they slide in. 

“Oh, fuck, wait,” Matt chokes out, grabbing at the bedsheet beneath him. “Wait, Ryan, that hurts— _ fuck!” _ he shrieks when Ryan shoves them in deep. 

Ryan clamps his free hand over Matt’s mouth, narrowing his eyes. “You can goddamn take it and you can be quiet. Don’t wake up my neighbors.” 

Matt whines unintelligibly behind Ryan’s hand, his eyes stinging behind his glasses. It hurts, it hurts so bad, oh, Jesus, he’s definitely awake now. Ryan pulls them back out and shoves them back in deep and Matt’s tears slide down his face. He squeezes his eyes shut and moans, muffled and low. 

“Are you gonna behave?” Ryan asks. 

Matt doesn’t really know what that means, but he nods anyway. 

Ryan pulls his hand away from Matt’s mouth and Matt bites down hard on his lip, his head pulling back against the pillow. “It really hurts. It hurts so fucking bad, ah, ah, oh God, oh God.” He punctuates his sentence with a shocked little yelp as Ryan leans down and sucks on the head of his cock. 

That’s new. That’s different. It distracts from the pain because it feels so fucking good that Matt feels like he’s going to come almost immediately. He even starts to get used to Ryan’s fingers. Matt closes his eyes again as Ryan scissors him open, a groan trapped in his throat. “Shit, that’s good. Oh my God.”

Ryan laughs all low and rich before he kisses the side of Matt’s cock. “Thought you’d like that.” He pushes his fingers up and strokes some place inside Matt that makes him writhe in pleasure, makes him cry out. His thighs tremble. 

“I’m gonna, I’m, Ryan, please.” Matt’s hips jerk up against Ryan’s face. “I-I think I’m gonna come.” 

“I’ve barely done anything to you,” Ryan laughs. He runs his tongue along Matt’s cock and swirls it over the tip as he fucks Matt on his hand, rubbing at Matt’s prostate until Matt can’t stand it anymore. His breath shakes and it seems to rattle his ribcage as he claws at the bedsheet, his body strung up taut. 

“Ryan,” Matt tries to say, his voice bubbling out of his mouth, wet and broken just before Ryan pulls his mouth off Matt’s cock. Matt comes harder than he ever has just jerking off, harder than he ever has even jerking off to the aforementioned stepdaddy porn, spilling on Ryan’s cheek. Ryan doesn’t stop fingering him even as Matt flutters around him and gets dizzy with stars behind his eyelids. 

“Little slut. You’re so fucking easy.” Ryan pulls away from Matt and swipes the cum off his cheek with the hand that’s not slick and wet, reaching up to shove his fingers in Matt’s mouth. “Suck them off.”

Dazed and still trying to catch his breath, Matt does his best, licking the spunk off Ryan’s fingertips, his tongue curling around them. It’s not half-bad. His weak fingers curl around Ryan’s wrist to keep him close. 

“That’s a good boy.” Ryan plucks his glasses off his face and puts them on the nightstand. “I’m not done with you yet, though. We’re just gettin’ started.” 

“But I’m tired,” Matt complains as Ryan uncaps the lube again. Matt’s eyelids are drooping and he feels that sleepiness come back tenfold. “Ryan, I don’t wanna do more.” 

“Well, Matthew, I think you should’ve thought about that earlier. You acting like a kid isn’t my fault.” Ryan pushed up the backs of Matt’s thighs, hooking his fingers around him and yanking him close. 

Matt can’t keep his eyes open anymore. He should be tense. He should be scared. But all he’s doing is falling back asleep. 

“Ryan, I wanna go to bed,” Matt slurs out, his head falling to the side. “M’so tired.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have drank so much. That was pretty irresponsible of you,” Ryan admonishes. Matt feels the head of Ryan’s dick pressing against his hole. 

Ryan’s voice sounds faded and too far away. When Ryan starts to thrust into him, Matt barely feels it. He wants to say that it was Ryan’s fault that he drank as much as he did, but he can’t make any part of himself function properly anymore. 

Everything around him starts to dim and Matt’s brain shuts off entirely. 


	2. a hangover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know what I'd do? I’d rebel. If they won’t let you live, you should live despite them. Sneak around. Go to concerts. Go to clubs. Go to parties. Hook up with people. Do drugs. But only some drugs,” Ryan clarifies. “Don’t do, like, heroin or whatever. I’m talking more about marijuana. If you act out, they’ll wonder where they went wrong and they’ll change their behavior.”
> 
> “Honestly, man, as cool as all that sounds, I don’t know that I should trust you.”

Matt wakes up with the worst headache he’s ever had in his life and a dull, miserable, heavy pain in the pit of his stomach. Even before he opens his eyes, he starts to wish he were dead. 

This room doesn't smell like his bedroom. It smells like stale cigarettes and dust and processed food and cold, stagnant air. Matt tries to push himself up, but that doesn’t quite work. His limbs are busted. Every single part of him hurts. He rolls over instead, groaning low and quiet. 

His breath catches and stops when he finds himself face-to-face with the stranger from last night. He remembers only very vague shapes, brief flashes of color. No real memories. Everything is a blur. 

He barely remembers this guy’s name. He doesn’t even know why he’s here.

The guy, Ryan (that’s as much as he knows), is fast asleep, snoring quietly. His dark hair is a loose, knotted mess around his head. Just looking at him and his peaceful face suddenly makes too much of it come rushing back and Matt feels a stab of acute nausea rock him, forcing him to scramble out of bed. 

Walking is an impossible task. Matt feels a stab of pain every time he puts a foot down. Everything burns. It feels like a million years before he can make it to the bathroom, clutching at his cold, naked shoulders and shivering. The apartment around him is unfocused and confusing, especially without his glasses. He thinks he better find those. 

As soon as he kneels down on the bathroom tile, his stomach heaves. Matt’s head pounds furiously as he retches, the smell of it surrounding him, acrid and sweet and acidic and sour. He feels like he’s been beaten senseless. Mainly from the asshole. 

Matt lost his virginity to a man and he doesn’t even  _ remember _ it. Oh, God. Oh, God. He’s gonna fucking scream. His dad was right. He’s gay. Matt is gay. Suppressing every single feeling he’s ever had, getting his hair cut so he didn’t have long bangs anymore, ditching the brightly-colored shirts and jeans skinny enough to cut off his circulation, and forcibly listening to different music genres still didn’t work. Matt’s gay and there’s nothing he can do about it now. He’s a fucking fag, he’s a fucking queer, he’s a fucking fairy. 

His life is fucking over. Why didn’t he just let Michelle make out with him in her car? Why did he let any of this happen? What’s wrong with him? 

Matt feels angry, furious tears well up in his eyes as he gasps and shudders over the toilet bowl. The tile beneath him eats away at his skin and carves grooves into his knees. 

It’s much too long before he’s able to stand again, but he has to get out. It’s too cold in here. Matt pushes himself to his feet and stumbles for a moment before he gains his balance. 

He trudges back to the bedroom where Ryan is still sound asleep. He squints and approaches the bed, relieved when he spots the shape of his glasses on the bedside table. 

The only evidence he can see of what happened last night are the clothes on the floor, but they just blend in with the mess that’s already covering the carpet. There’s also spotty stains of blood on the rumpled sheet. That, more than anything else, makes Matt feel absolutely ashamed of himself. 

The clothes that Ryan had found for him last night positively dwarf him. It makes him feel that much more childish. He has to pull the drawstrings on the shorts tight so they won’t fall off—not that he needs them, really, because the hem of the shirt falls somewhere in the middle of his thighs. 

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do. These are not his clothes.  He doesn’t have socks. He doesn’t have shoes. They’re soaked in piss. He can’t go home and have his parents ask him why he’s wearing a shirt that has a graduating year from the same year that he was in second grade. He has to wake Ryan up so he can wash his clothes and Matt really, really doesn’t want to do that. He’s terrified that Ryan is going to talk to him and mention what happened last night and Matt really, really, _really_ doesn’t want to talk about that.

Matt’s just going to have to find the washer himself. Maybe it’s on another floor. Oh, fuck, he’s going to have to look for it. Matt just stands frozen in the middle of the bedroom, watching Ryan and the way his chest rises and falls. 

He’s just going to wash the clothes himself. He’s going to look for a washer and dryer in the apartment. If he can’t find them, he’ll just die, maybe. 

Collecting his crumpled clothes off the bathroom floor is a miserable task, but not as miserable as having to carry them. At least he rediscovers his phone and slips it into a pocket of the shorts. Matt drags himself to the living room, where a snoozing Lego hops up and trots over to him.

“Hey, buddy,” Matt says, his voice scratched. The acid in his mouth is frying him alive. Lego eagerly licks his leg and bumps his head against it. Matt feels guilty for not being able to pet him; his hands are full. 

There’s a shuffling in the kitchen that makes Matt’s head jerk up, his heart sinking. He can’t meet a stranger right now. Not like this. He takes a few steps back, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. 

When he actually sees the shuffler, he feels a tiny bit of relief. The shuffler is Jackson. It’s not like he knows him well, or at all, really, but at least it’s better than having to introduce himself to a complete and total stranger. And he might know where the washer and dryer are. 

Matt timidly approaches the kitchen. Jackson’s focused on his phone, chewing on a piece of toast. “Uh. Hey.”

Jackson looks up. “Hey, famous Matt Watson,” he says with a grin. “Good morning.” 

“‘Morning.” Matt shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Sorry, do you guys have a washer?”

“Yeah, in that closet over there.” Jackson nods towards the door in the corner of the kitchen. “What happened to your clothes?”

Matt turns red and shrugs, not looking at Jackson as he crosses the kitchen floor. “Nothing,” he mutters. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Fair enough.” Jackson takes another bite of toast. Matt can feel his eyes from across the room. “Did you and Ryan become best friends last night?”

“I dunno, something like that, I guess.” The closet is tiny and barely contains both machines. Matt stuffs his clothes in the washer and clumsily splashes half a capful of laundry detergent on top of them. His head is killing him and it throbs with every little movement. “Do you guys have painkillers?” 

“Cabinet next to the stove. How much did you drink last night?” 

“Way too much. I’ve never drank before.” Matt starts the washer and backs out of the closet. He almost trips over Lego, who must have followed him without Matt realizing it. Matt’s finally able to pet him now and Lego seems eternally grateful, looking like he’s smiling as he pants and nuzzles into Matt’s hand. 

“I know I asked Ryan last night, but he, ah, he dodged the question, so let me ask you: how old are you, famous Matt Watson?”

“I, uh. I’m fifteen.”

Jackson pauses mid-chew, his eyes wide behind his glasses. “Fifteen? You’re only fifteen?” 

Matt wilts, his hand faltering away from the cabinet door. “Yeah?”

“Oh my God.” Jackson shakes his head and swallows his mouthful. “Wow, he’s getting worse. I can’t believe him.” 

Believe it or not, that doesn’t make Matt feel any better. He finds a bottle of Advil in the cabinet and takes the pills dry. “What does that mean?” 

“Hmm. Trying to think of how to word it.” Jackson finishes his toast and brushes the crumbs off his hands. “He’s kind of a creep,” he says conversationally, “but never this much of a creep. He must really be going through some stuff lately if he’s going for a kid like you. Especially, like, a boy. You’re not his type.” 

“Oh,” Matt says, because he doesn’t know what else to say to that. He sits down at the kitchen table and rests his head on his folded arms. He finally lifts his head and looks at Jackson, who looks politely unemotional. “Is that, like… I think I remember him saying something about how people talk or whatever. Is that what he meant?”

Jackson snickers. “Most likely. That’s why I told him not to get himself in any trouble. He shouldn’t keep messing around the way he does.”

“So he does this a lot? I’m not, like.” Matt pauses, realizing how pathetic the end of his sentence is going to sound. “I’m not special or anything?”

“Aw, kid, come on,” Jackson says, sounding sympathetic enough, but he mainly sounds sad in a way that’s like  _ “Don’t say that or else you’re just gonna make me feel depressed”. _ “I mean, this was just a hookup. It doesn’t mean anything about you as, like, a person, you know? You were just at the wrong place at the wrong time. Or the right place, maybe.” 

“It wasn’t  _ just _ a hookup. He—we—” Matt sniffles and looks away. “I-I don’t know. I’ve never done any of this before. And this isn’t me. This isn’t the kind of guy I’m supposed to be. I’m supposed to go to fucking church tomorrow morning and I’m gonna have to think about this the whole time.”

Jackson looks frustrated and sad. “Christ, I’m gonna kill him,” he says under his breath, shaking his head. “I’m gonna fucking kill him. You’re not the first kid I’ve met who’s said something like that to me, you know. He’s gotta stop at some point.”

Matt looks back at him. “You meet other people who just, like, have the same weird downward spirals in your kitchen after Ryan takes them home from college parties?” 

“Not specifically college parties, but yeah. I’ve got one of those faces that people trust, I think.”

Matt picks at a scab on the back of his hand. “...how old is Ryan?”

“Twenty-six. That’s why I’m gonna kill him.”

“Oh, okay, cool,” Matt says weakly. “Why was, uh—how come he was at a college party? He’s not a student or anything, is he?”

“He wanted to go, so I invited him. Just bad timing.” 

Matt could ask Jackson why he invited Ryan to a college party if this is such a frequent occurrence, but he thinks that’s probably not the best question to ask right now. Matt would rather avoid as much conflict as possible. His head hurts too much to cope with that. 

“Oh, hey.” 

Matt lifts his head as he hears Lego’s claws click across the floor, running towards his master. Ryan stands awkwardly in the entrance of the kitchen, his clothes from last night haphazardly thrown on. He’s in the middle of tying his hair up and Matt gets lost for a second watching it. “You’re still here,” he says flatly. 

Matt doesn’t really know how to respond to that other than acknowledging that yes, he is, in fact, still here. “...yeah.” 

Jackson clears his throat and pushes his chair back. “I made some coffee if anyone wants any.”

“Thanks,” Ryan says, not taking his eyes off Matt. Matt shrinks under his gaze. “You definitely should’ve been gone already.” 

“Dude, I don’t have any fucking shoes. They’re in the washer right now. You wanted me to steal your flip-flops and go out looking like this?” Matt says, gesturing to himself, feeling more confident now that he’s annoyed. 

“If that’s what it would’ve taken.” Ryan absentmindedly rubs the top of Lego’s head as he passes him, heading for the coffee maker. “I just don’t think most people would stick around in a stranger’s house after a one-night stand.” 

“You know what, Ryan, actually, I don’t think most people would pick up straight guys at college parties who are, like,  _ eleven _ years younger than them and get them super drunk and then take them home,” Matt says, growing increasingly irritated. 

Ryan laughs as he pours a cup of coffee. “I didn’t pick up a straight guy. I picked up  _ you.” _

Jackson cringes and decides that that’s when he’s going to leave the kitchen. “Nice talking to you, famous Matt Watson.” 

“Yeah, you too,” Matt says distractedly, scowling at Ryan. “You tried to turn me gay.”

“Matthew, have FCKH8 campaigns in your school taught you nothing? You don’t  _ turn _ gay, you’re  _ born _ gay.”

“That’s bullshit. What about how, like, how straight guys get raped in prison and then they’re gay when they come out?” 

Ryan laughs again, much, much harder, and Matt remembers that same sound vividly from the night prior. “What fucking study is  _ that _ from? Who says that? Who ever in your whole life told you that guys turn gay ‘cause they get assraped in prison, Matt?” 

“I’ve just heard that somewhere before, I don’t know!” Matt says defensively, his blush returning as Ryan continues to laugh at him. “Listen, shut the fuck up, okay? Even if you don’t think you turned me gay, even if you think I’m gay already, it’s still fucked up that you got me drunk and then you had sex with me at your apartment even though I told you how old I was! I could have fucking AIDS or something now and I’ve still got my whole life ahead of me!” 

“You don’t have AIDS, Matt. I promise that you don’t have AIDS. At least not from me. Also, not to, uh, victim-blame or anything here, which I’m not, because you’re not a victim of anything, but you could’ve told me no at any point. You just refused to.” 

“I was  _ drunk! _ I’ve never been drunk before!” All of a sudden, though, maybe Matt doubts himself a little bit. He thinks that maybe Ryan kind of has a point, that he didn’t  _ have _ to drink so much beer. He could’ve just not drank it. “I, look, whatever, okay, maybe drinking so much was my fault, I could’ve stopped drinking, but it was still fucked up of you to take me home and to not let me use the bathroom and then you made me—” Matt pauses. “Wait, did you do that on  _ purpose?” _

“What did I do on purpose, Matt?” Ryan asks, sipping his coffee. 

“You know what I’m talking about, asshole.”

“Mm, no, I did a lot of things last night, many of which were purposeful and many of which were also completely accidental.”

“Did you make me piss myself on purpose?” Matt hisses, his fingernails digging into his palms. He hears a strange little choked-off giggle from the living room and he suddenly knows he can never look Jackson in the face if they ever happen to cross paths again. 

“You’re throwing around a lot of accusations right now that are kind of uncalled for. Matt, did you or did you not make the decision to go to a college party?” 

“I—I did, yeah, but—”

“So you admit you made the decision to go to a college party. Did you or did you not want to drink last night?”

Matt realizes how quickly he’s losing this argument. “...yes.”

“I know you were drunk, but being drunk doesn’t  _ make _ you do anything. All it does is lower your inhibitions. Did you or did you not like it when I was kissing you? When I was touching you and making you feel good and shit? Did you ever  _ actually _ say no? I would’ve stopped if you had.”

The thing is, Matt doesn’t remember. He remembers Ryan kissing him, he thinks he remembers getting fingered, but anything past that is completely blank. He knows he must have blacked out or something. Which… isn’t technically Ryan’s fault. 

He either has to trust Ryan or he has to trust himself, and he’s never been one to trust himself.

Matt goes back to picking at his scab. Blood beads on the surface of his skin. “What did I say after I blacked out?” he asks quietly. “I don’t remember any of it.”

“When’d you black out?”

“I don’t know. I can’t remember. I guess the last thing I remember was…” When Matt tries to pick it apart, it’s that much more difficult. He remembers sensations, he remembers Ryan’s voice, he remembers what he was doing, but he doesn’t remember anything in sequence. None of it makes sense together. It’s like he’s trying to put a broken glass bottle back together with tape. “I don’t know. I don’t know.” He buries his head in his arms again. “This sucks.” 

Ryan doesn’t respond. Matt turns his head ever so slightly so he can peek up at him. 

Ryan takes another sip of coffee before setting his mug down on the counter. “You wanna get some breakfast before you come back for your clothes?”

*

It’s a little bit past ten, so there aren’t many breakfast places open. There is, however, McDonald’s. There’s McDonald’s and they go through the drive-through. The girl who works at the window (her name tag says ‘Amber’) recognizes Ryan. He must be a regular. 

“Hey! Is that your little brother? I didn’t know you had a little brother,” Amber says, waving at Matt, who tries to melt into the passenger’s seat. 

“Yeah, that’s my kid brother, Matty,” Ryan says, reaching over and ruffling Matt’s hair. Matt flushes and smacks his hand away. “He’s retarded,” he tells Amber in an undertone. “Medically, I mean. Nonverbal. I like to get him breakfast here ‘cause it just really makes his day.”

“Oh my gosh, that’s so sweet,” Amber says, pressing her hand against her chest. “Do you want, like, some extra fries? I can give you a bunch of extra fries. And extra nuggets.”

“You know what, that’d be amazing. Anything to keep my boy happy.”

Matt is staring at Ryan in outrage when Amber hands Ryan their food. Ryan flashes Amber a bright smile when he tells her to have a great day and he pulls out of the parking lot. Matt immediately snatches one of the bags and pelts Ryan with a handful of fries, something he usually only reserves for Sam. “What the fuck is your  _ problem?” _

“We got free food!” Ryan crows. “I gotta exploit your youthful innocence somehow! Come on, Matt, what’s a little white lie in exchange for extra fries? Extra fries that you just wasted.” He picks one off his hoodie and stuffs it in his mouth. “I do you a favor and you spit it back in my face.” 

“You can’t call people retarded! And you especially can’t call  _ me _ retarded without my permission to random strangers!”

“Do you want the free fries or not, Matthew?”

“Yeah, I want the free fries,” Matt grumbles, grabbing another handful of them out of the bag. It makes his stomach churn, but he doesn’t care. He’s starving anyway. 

Ryan takes the bag from him and rummages through it to find his sandwich. “You’re a scrappy little piece of shit, you know that? I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Scrappy, huh?” Matt says dubiously, taking the bag back. “I dunno what ‘scrappy’ means.”

“Like, kind of bitchy. Kind of mean. You don’t just roll over and take everything I throw at you. Except when I want you to, you know.” Ryan giggles. “I also thought you would’ve been a little nicer to me after getting your shit rocked, but maybe not.”

“I think I’m just pissed because I don’t even remember losing my virginity and it was with some creepy fatass who stalks kids at parties and fucks them in his apartment after he gets them drunk.”

Ryan rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I  _ stalked _ you, Matt.  _ You _ bumped into  _ me. _ This hoodie smells like straight strawberry daiquiris now ‘cause you’re a clumsy little baby deer.” 

“Fuck you,” Matt says in lieu of a comeback. “You know what, man, I thought you were so cool at that party. I thought you were so funny and you actually listened to me and you didn’t make me feel like shit. And I don’t have that in a lot of people. Then you went and fucked the whole thing up.” He looks out the passenger window, his throat tight. “You’ve got issues.”

Ryan snorts.  _ “I’ve _ got issues. Says the kid who almost started crying in my arms ‘cause he was scared of Daddy finding out that he was having gay sex.”

“Just sex in  _ general.  _ Both my parents would fucking kill me.”

“Let me ask you something, Matt: if I was a woman, God forbid, and you hooked up with me, would you be this scared of it? You wouldn’t brag to your friends about how you hooked up with an older chick? You wouldn’t say that you banged the shit out of her?” 

“No! No, I wouldn’t, ‘cause it would still mean I had sex and I wouldn’t want my parents to find out!”

“I don’t believe you. Or, well, no, okay, I don’t believe that the sex being gay doesn’t play a  _ role _ in that.”

“Why do you want me to focus on that aspect so bad?”

“Because it’s the entire aspect! You told me your dad was gonna call you a queer and you were scared of him!”

“Fine! Fine, maybe I am! Maybe I’m fucking scared that my dad’s gonna call me a queer! Maybe I’m fucking scared that when I go home, he’s gonna know something’s wrong and he’s gonna ground me for six weeks and this’ll just keep happening until I’m dead because even if I’m  _ not _ gay, even if I never get to go out and do  _ anything, _ he  _ still _ thinks I’m always doing something I shouldn’t be! That’s what I’m saying! I can’t do anything right in that fucking house. You know  _ why _ I wanted to go to a shitty college party? It’s because I never get to fucking do anything! Neither of them respect me and they always treat me like a kid!” Matt feels frustration and anger well up to the point where it pricks at his eyes. “They don’t give a fuck about me. They just care if I do what they say.” 

“So sad, Matthew.” Ryan clicks his tongue in sympathy, picking a fry off the dashboard. “You know what I’d do?”

“What?” Matt asks suspiciously. 

“I’d rebel. If they won’t let you live, you should live despite them. Sneak around. Go to concerts. Go to clubs. Go to parties. Hook up with people. Do drugs. But only some drugs,” Ryan clarifies. “Don’t do, like, heroin or whatever. I’m talking more about marijuana. If you act out, they’ll wonder where they went wrong and they’ll change their behavior.”

“Honestly, man, as cool as all that sounds, I don’t know that I should trust you.”

“You probably shouldn’t, but do you trust your parents more?”

Matt doesn’t. His silence confirms it. Ryan gives a firm nod. “Exactly. I’m just asking you to live a little. For your own benefit.”

“Not for yours?”

“Not for mine. Just for yours. Be young before you get too old.”

*

Matt’s phone buzzes in his pocket just as they pull up close to the apartment building. It’s his mom and he preemptively groans, hastily wiping salt and grease off on his shorts before answering. “Hey, Mom.”

Ryan looks over at him, looking interested and quietly amused. Matt makes a face at him. 

“Matt, where are you?” Ann asks sternly. “It’s getting late.”

“It’s not even noon!” 

“It’s getting late for me not to know where you are. When are you getting back?”

“In, like, half an hour.” 

“Let me talk to her,” Ryan whispers, holding his hand out for the phone. Matt mouths  _ “No” _ as forcefully as he can muster, gripping his phone tight so Ryan can’t steal it or anything. “How are you getting home? Do you need me to come get you?”

“Uh, no. I’m coming back with one of my youth leaders.” It just tumbles out of his mouth and Ryan starts laughing, hard enough that Matt hits him as hard as he can on the arm to get him to stop. 

“Which one?”

“It’s, he’s a new one. His name’s Ryan. He’s friends with one of Sam’s friends. Max and I went back to church to help take care of the altar ‘cause the acolytes didn’t bother on Friday night and Ryan said he could take me home.”

“Did Ryan really say that, Matt?” Ryan asks, raising his eyebrows. 

“Okay,” Ann says with a sigh. “Fine. I wanna meet him, though.” 

“You—really?” Matt asks weakly. “Mom, are you sure?”

“Yes, Matt, I’m sure. Why wouldn’t I be sure? I wanna get a look at the guy who’s carting my son around without my consent.” 

“Sure. Uh, we’ll… we’ll be there soon. I love you.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.” 

When Matt hangs up, Ryan starts to laugh again and Matt hits him harder. “Shut the fuck up! Shut the fuck up. You’ve gotta change out of that fucking hoodie and look like a youth leader and take me home and you’re not gonna make anything weird, ‘cause if you do, I’ll tell everyone you raped me and they’ll know ‘cause there’s DNA evidence.”

“Okay, okay, Jesus Christ, relax; I was gonna help you anyway, you little shit. Do you just cry rape at anyone who’ll listen? You’re gonna have to take responsibility for your own actions one of these days. God can’t help you all the time.” 

“I’ve never had to cry rape before!”

“Then I suggest you don’t start now,” Ryan advises him before opening the driver’s door. “Not to sound, like, insane or anything, but don’t get on my bad side.” 

Matt scoffs and hops out as well, dropping his phone back in his pocket. “Sounds like some shit that a guy with a Punisher sticker on his fuckin’ Ford F-150 would say.” 

“I could make your life pretty hard, Matt. Hard in ways that you couldn’t even imagine. So don’t play with me, okay?”

Matt blinks at Ryan from the other side of the car’s hood. Ryan isn’t joking. His face is flat and impassive. 

“Okay,” Matt says, letting out a tiny, confused laugh. “I won’t, I guess.” 

“I’m serious,” Ryan replies, turning and heading for the apartment building without bothering to check if Matt is following him. Matt has to hurry to catch up. “Just start thinking before you speak, is all.” 

*

“Jackson’s weird and he’s too nice to people, so he threw your clothes in the dryer.” Ryan hunts through his dresser to, presumably, find something that’s not stained with alcohol. “You don’t need to thank him for it. He just does shit like that.”

“Why?” Matt asks, forcing himself to look down at his phone and look at the settings like he’s emotionally invested in them because he’s not about to ask for the WiFi password. He’s forcing himself to look at his phone because he doesn’t want to see Ryan without his shirt again. He wants to avoid thinking about how he felt last night as much as possible. 

“Like I said, he’s weird. He’s just nice to people for no real reason.”

“Maybe he’s, like, a good person.” 

“Yeah, I bet the slippery fucker would say something like that.” 

When Matt looks up again, thankfully, Ryan is dressed. In jeans and a non-wrinkled t-shirt that fits him, he looks a lot more normal. Like, someone who doesn’t molest kids. He pulls the tie back out of his hair and twists it up again, smoothing his fingers over his scalp. 

He catches Matt’s eye and grins. “What’re you looking at, Matthew?”

“Nothing.” Matt is once again invested in his phone settings. Ryan chuckles and throws the alcoholic hoodie at him. 

*

“So you’re a church kid,” Ryan brings up on the drive home. Matt’s shoes are still a little damp and they don’t feel great on his socks, but it’s fine. At least he’s in his own clothes again. His hair is a mess, but, still, fine. “Are you an altar boy?”

“Uh, technically, yeah. I’m an acolyte.” 

Ryan snickers and shakes his head. “Goddamnit, of course you are. Next you’re gonna tell me that you go to private school. That you’ve got some kind of uniform.” 

Matt narrows his eyes at him. “No, but what does that have to do with anything?” 

“It’s just, like, you know the stereotype. Older guy lusts after some innocent kid with no sexual experience and he’s usually religious and everything. The schoolboy shit.” 

“You know, when you put it like that, do you not think about how fucked up it is to lust after some innocent kid?”

“Aw, come on, Matt, you can’t simplify it like that. I was just kiddin’ around. You can’t just take out all the nuance from the situation and say I’m just a fuckin’ perv.”

“But you are,” Matt points out. “Like, you  _ literally _ are.” 

Ryan makes a dismissive noise and shakes his head. “The nuance. You’re ignoring the nuance. We’re off-topic. So you’re an acolyte, you go to church with your parents every Sunday, you’re in youth group. You go to Sunday school, too?”

“I, uh, yeah,” Matt says, feeling hot under his collar. “Sometimes I skip out and just go to the parking lot and smoke with my friends.” 

“Only sometimes, though. You still go the majority of the time.”

“Yeah. I guess. I don’t have a lot else to do.” 

“Youth group is voluntary, though, right? Like, your parents won’t force you to go to that.”

“We get to go to theme parks and museums and concerts and shit for free. I can sit through an hour of Bible study for that.” 

“No, yeah, I don’t really blame you; I’m just trying to gauge the situation. So I’m your new youth leader, right? That’s who I’m gonna be introducing myself as?” 

“Yeah, you’re my new youth leader Ryan. Ryan, uh…”

“Magee,” Ryan supplies. 

“Ryan Magee. Okay. Ryan Magee, the new youth leader at St. Peter’s.”

“Sure. What kinda church is it? ‘Cause I was raised Catholic.”

“Oh, uh, Episcopalian. It’s basically the same exact shit; we have priests and altar boys and a lot of the same hymns and stuff, but we don’t worship saints. 

“Got it. I can work with that.”

“We’re not gonna be there that long,” Matt says, suddenly feeling anxious. “Like, you’re just gonna drop me off, say hi, and leave. It’ll be a thirty-second conversation, you know, at best.”

“I’m always prepared, Matthew. Suppose it’s longer. Suppose they ask me to dinner.”

“Well, they won’t, because that’s fucking insane. They’re just gonna say hi.” 

“You sure are gonna feel stupid when they’re so charmed by me that they  _ immediately _ ask me to stay for dinner.”

“Who in the  _ entire _ world has been so charmed by Ryan Magee that they’ve done that?” 

“I’ve been married before, Matt. I can charm people. I know how to do it.” 

“Wait, what?”

Ryan peers out the windshield. “I’m supposed to turn left on Francis, right?” 

“Yeah. But, like, hang on, wait, go back to that other thing. You’ve been married?”

“We’ll talk about that some other time.” Ryan’s voice is flat and firm. It shuts Matt up, even though his tongue is furled and burning with questions. 

*

“This is your street coming up here, right?”

“Yeah. Just past the stop sign.”

“Alright.” Ryan pulls up next to a curb and stops, making Matt’s eyebrows knit together. 

“It’s—we’re not there yet,” Matt says, his voice faltering. 

“Yeah, no, I know. I just wanted to talk to you before we get to your parents’ house.” Ryan cuts the engine and leans back in his seat, exhaling. Matt waits, confused and semi-frozen. 

“I don’t usually do this,” Ryan starts, looking down and picking at one of his cuticles. “None of this. I don’t, uh, I don’t help people the way I’ve helped you. Not anyone that I’ve brought home. I never wanna see any of them again. I prefer to keep myself unattached, because I’ve had really bad experiences before. I don’t wanna hurt someone who doesn’t know what they’re getting into and I don’t want them to hurt me.”

Matt nods just to show that he’s listening, because he doesn’t know if he’s supposed to say anything yet or not. 

“But I like you,” Ryan continues. “I like you a lot, Matt. I think you’re cute and I think you’re fun to talk to and I think we could have a really good thing here. I don’t have a whole lot of friends, or, uh, not a lot that I can really confide in. We don’t have to be anything more than just friends. Even if you don’t wanna be friends, that’s fine. We don’t have to see each other again. If you want to, though, here.” He unlocks his phone and hands it to Matt. “Put your number in there.”

Matt should probably give it more thought than he does. Ryan did treat him pretty fucking bad last night. Matt’s asshole is still horribly sore, twinging every time he moves, and his headache still throbs dully. The insides of his shoes, as aforementioned, are still damp and they’re only damp because they had to be washed because Ryan forced him to do something unmentionable. Ryan is not what Matt would call a trustworthy adult. Matt shouldn’t put anything he has in Ryan’s hands and he should just go home and sleep off everything he went through yesterday. 

Despite knowing what he should and should not be doing, though, Matt still takes Ryan’s phone and adds his number, naming the contact “Matthew”, because he kind of likes the way Ryan says his full name. He smiles a little as he hands the phone back. “I guess we could be friends. Maybe. That sounds cool.” 

Ryan lights up like sunshine and rainbows as he restarts the car. “Maybe we can even be best friends, Matt. Anything could happen.”

Ryan’s right. As Matt laughs and looks out the passenger window, twisting his hand in a few locks of hair, he knows that Ryan is right. 

Anything could happen. Maybe anything will. 

*

Ann and Dale do not invite Ryan to stay for dinner, as luck would have it, but Ryan still sells the youth leader angle spectacularly well. 

“Mr. Watson? Your son is incredible. So devoted. The way he tends to that church, man, you’d think he was out to run it someday.” 

It’s honestly very generous of him. Ryan is surprisingly normal, and, well, charming around Matt’s parents. There’s something really insidious about them not knowing anything of what transpired last night, but what’s the alternative?

Matt’s phone buzzes while Ann is asking Ryan about why he started going to St. Peter’s. Matt is distracted from marveling at Ryan’s ability to bullshit as he reads his texts over. They’re from Sam.

_ I’m gonna kill you when you get in the house _

Matt glances at Sam’s window as if he’s expecting her to be glaring down at him. 

_ did michelle tell you about what happened last night _

_ Yeah she did you creepy little fucker  _ _  
_ _ What’s your problem????  _

_ sam i have no idea what you’re talking about _ _  
_ _ i passed out drunk and some guy that i met last night took me back home _

_ You’re a liar and I’m gonna kill you Matt I swear to God just get rid of that guy and come talk to me in my room _

That’s concerning. Matt slips his phone back in his pocket and tunes back in. 

“...really nice to meet you guys. I’m glad Matt has someone like you to come home to. I’ll see you next weekend, okay, buddy?” Matt jumps when Ryan claps him on the shoulder. 

“Uh, yeah. See you. Thanks, Ryan.” 

“Hope to see you on Sunday,” Ann says cheerfully, waving as Ryan climbs back into the car. Dale’s frowning a little as Ryan drives away. 

“I don’t know if I like him,” Dale says. 

“Aw, hon, why? Kid seems like a sweetheart,” Ann says, reaching up to idly brush Matt’s hair back. Matt half-smiles, but ducks away from her just on principle. 

“Just gives me some kind of feeling.” Dale shakes his head as he starts to head back up the front entrance. “Seems off.” 

Ann scoffs before turning to Matt, tucking his hair behind his ear. Matt shakes her off.  _ “Mom.” _

_ “Matt,” _ Ann says with the same inflection. “I wish you would’ve texted me sooner. I spent a long time not knowing where you were.”

“I know, I get it, I’m sorry.” Matt rearranges his hair. “It was kind of a rough night. We tried to pull an all-nighter.” 

“That’s not much fun when you get older, is it?”

“Nah, not really.” 

Ann chuckles and cups Matt’s cheek in her hand, stroking his face with her thumb. He lets her do it this time. “Oh, you really are getting older, aren’t you?” she murmurs. 

“Mom, someone could walk by, like, any second. I’m not a baby.”

“You’re my baby.” Ann stands on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Are you gonna come have some lunch?”

The McDonald’s is heavy in Matt’s stomach. He can’t stomach the idea of eating anything else, but it’s not like he has a choice. “Sure. I’ll have some lunch.”

*

Matt forces down a PB&J and continues to blatantly make shit up to his mother while she chops celery, onions, and carrots for dinner. Ryan becomes an incredibly compelling character in Matt’s head. He skis at Sugar Mountain on the weekends. He volunteers at homeless shelters and he’s a substitute teacher at a kindergarten. He did voice acting for a living before he turned to Christ. He toured as a stagehand for MercyMe for a year. Lego is a rescue dog who once saved a little girl from a burning building. Ryan Magee becomes the stuff of legends at the Watson kitchen table as Matt tries not to throw his sandwich up, explaining to his mother how incredibly not rapey Ryan is. 

“You two must’ve gotten pretty close, huh?” Ann says, sounding overjoyed that Matt has a positive male role model in his life. He hates how much it would break her heart if she knew anything about Matt at all. “He sounds wonderful, Matty. I really don’t like the other one that much, so I hope this Ryan’s a decent replacement.”

“Oh, for sure, yeah.” Matt thinks about how he’s going to have to invent some tragic accident for Ryan to get into next week so his parents don’t call him a liar. He really can’t afford that right now. “Um, where’s Sam?”

“In her room, probably, why?”

“Just wanted to talk to her. Needed some help with, uh, geometry.”

“I’m sure your dad could help, too. As long as he’s not busy.”

“I’m guessing he is,” Matt says quickly. “It’s fine. Sam’s better with geometry anyway.” 

*

Sam actually sucks at geometry, but that’s not why Matt’s going to see her. Obviously.

“Hey, what the fuck?” Matt asks upon bursting into Sam’s room. 

_ “Knock!” _ she yells at her computer screen, slamming her palm on the desk. “I  _ know _ you know how!”

“Oh my God, that’s not what matters right now.” Matt slams the door shut and he can vaguely hear his mother’s voice from downstairs, almost definitely scolding him for that. “What the fuck was that text about? What did Mich tell you?”

“She told me what you did last night.” Sam rips her headphones off and drops them on her desk, glaring up at Matt with pure acid. He’s never seen her this angry. Not when he drowned her Hello Kitty plush in a puddle of mud in the backyard, not when he cut her bangs in her sleep, not when he spilled soda on her ninety-nine-dollar keyboard. “Matt, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“Sam, I seriously,  _ literally _ have no idea what you’re talking about. Look, she tried to kiss me last night and I told her I didn’t want to, then she got all pissy, and then we went in to the party and I spilled a drink on her and she got even more pissy. Then she left. That was the whole story.”

_ “She _ said that you waited until she fell asleep in someone’s bedroom, then you tried to—you know.”

Matt gapes at her. “Are you serious? She said that? What the fuck? Sam, why would I do that? Do you think I would do something like that?”

“I don’t know! I’ve walked in on you doing creepy stuff before!”

“You can’t compare me  _ jerking off  _ to raping some chick in her sleep!” Matt hisses. “I don’t care how, like, weird and gross the porn is; there’s a  _ huge _ difference between those two things! Sam, I know you’re not actually fucking dumb, okay? You know I didn’t rape Michelle. I  _ couldn’t _ have raped Michelle, and you know why? A guy brought me to his apartment last night after he got me really, really drunk and he—” He stops himself from finishing that sentence. The words stick to his gums. “That was that guy down there. I was with him all night.”

Sam stares at him. “Matt, did you…” Her mouth moves slightly, like she’s trying to say something, but she doesn’t manage it for a second. “You’re not serious, are you? You didn’t.”

“I-it was a mistake. Like I said, I was drunk. Insanely drunk. I—nothing happened. I just blacked out. But I fell asleep in his bed and everything.” 

“Who was it?” 

“Uh, he’s not a student. His name’s Ryan. Ryan Magee.”

“Wait, Magee? As in ‘friends with Jackson Tucker’ Magee?”

“Yeah. They’re roommates.”

“Oh my God,” Sam says, covering her mouth. “You were in a  _ house _ with them? Alone? Matt, what were you  _ thinking?” _

“Well, it was an apartment, but, yeah. Why?” 

“Tucker’s a creep! Both him and Magee are, like,  _ well-known _ creeps! Tucker roofies girls just so Magee can bring them home and do whatever he wants with them! It happened to, like, three different girls I know! Oh my God. Oh my God. Matt, that’s so scary. They could’ve hurt you.” Sam buries her face in her hands. “I can’t believe I let you go with her.” 

“Sam, I’m fine,” Matt says uncomfortably. He’s glad his sister doesn’t think he’s a rapist anymore, but this isn’t really a positive development. “Nothing happened. I told you.” 

“Are you sure?” Sam asks, lifting her head. “I’m, like. I’m so sorry. I’m a horrible person. I’m a horrible sister.”

“Sam, Jesus, I swear I’m fine. I don’t know why everyone keeps treating me like a kid. I  _ wanted _ to go to that party, okay? I  _ wanted _ to drink. I wanted all of that. And I’m fine. I’m okay.”

Sam bites her lip and shakes her head. “I still feel awful. I don’t know. I gotta talk to Mich. I can’t believe she said that.” She grabs her phone off her desk. “Sorry that I said I was gonna kill you.”

“It’s fine.” Matt awkwardly scratches his arm. “You’re not gonna tell anyone, are you? About any of it?”

“Matt, if I tell Mom and Dad, they’re gonna think it was all my fault. You’re right. I’m not fucking dumb. But you’re not going to go to another CSU party and you’re not going to talk to Magee or Tucker ever again, got it?”

“Yeah. Got it.” 

*

Matt gets it objectively, but he doesn’t quite listen. Mainly because when he crawls into bed in his underwear that afternoon, trying to nurse the headache that’s coming back with a fury, an unknown number texts him a picture of a black stud earring on a familiar wrinkled bedsheet. 

_ I think you forgot something before you left _

Matt hears Sam’s voice in his head when he’s making a new contact for Ryan in his phone. He hesitates for a moment, his fingertips lingering in the air, but he finally, slowly adds Ryan’s number. 

_ i have another pair that looks just that lmao don’t worry about it _ _  
_ _ hey can i ask you something  _

Matt doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until he sees the little grey dots pop up on his phone screen. 

_ Ask away, Matthew _

Matt types out a message, deletes it, and then thinks very carefully about the one he types next. 

_ my sister says she knows you and jackson and she says you guys have like a bad reputation on campus  _ _  
_ _ is that true?  _

_ I mean maybe it’s true that we have a bad reputation but it’s not because of us LOL _ _  
_ _ It’s all rumors. Jackson was at the wrong place at the wrong time one night  _ _  
_ _ I had pretty bad sex with some girl that he served a few drinks to and she took it out on both of us _ _  
_ _ She was a pretty popular nursing major so that rumor about Jackson circulated quick _

Well, that makes sense. Maybe too much sense. Considering what Michelle had told Sam, that makes a  _ lot _ of sense. 

That being said, it’s hard to refute multiple cases. Matt chews a piece of skin off his bottom lip. 

_ my sister said that like three different girls said it  _

_ I really don’t hang around CSU that much. One thing you’ve gotta understand about the real world is that sometimes women are liars and sometimes they’re cunts  _

Matt thinks back to what Jackson said. About how Ryan brings home girls a lot. How a lot of them are young. 

_ why don’t you like girls? _ Matt taps out. 

_ I love girls. Girls are great. But then they grow up and turn into women and then they’re less fun to be around   
_ _ Why don’t you like girls Matt? _

_ i do like girls _ _  
_ _ what makes you think i don’t like girls _

_ Because you’re gay _

Matt rubs his eyes and exhales before typing again. 

_ i’m not gay but even if i was it wouldn’t be because i don’t like girls _ _  
_ _ like i mean i wouldn’t like them sexually but even if i didn’t i wouldn’t call them whores and cunts and shit i think that’s fucked up _

_ Are they slipping respect women juice into your communion wine or something _

_ no i’m just not an asshole _

_ Bully for you Matthew  
_ _ I’m kind of curious about something _

_ what? _

_ Do you go to the church on saturday nights normally? _

_ i actually do yeah lol  
_ _ i have acolyte duties on saturdays at around eight i have to change out the candles and water the flowers and change out the tapestries and stuff  _

_ Cool I was just wondering  
_ _ I gotta work but I’ll catch up with you later _

_ alright lmao  
_ _ thanks ryan  _

_ ;) _

Matt thinks about sending him an emoji or a weird meme or something, but then thinks better of it. He rolls over and stares at the wall, clutching a handful of his comforter and pressing his cheek against the coolness of it. 

He wants to tell someone about it. Anyone. Anyone in the entire world who could possibly understand what he feels and what he’s going through and would understand that no, he’s not gay, but if he was, he may or may not be going through a crisis over it. He doesn’t know what to do. He can’t tell any of his friends, he can’t tell his sister, he  _ definitely _ can’t tell his parents. 

Matt finds himself thinking about Jackson. About him being too nice to people and how easy it was to talk to him. Sure, the idea that maybe he’s a creep that secretly roofies girls is pretty scary, but, well. Matt doesn’t know for  _ sure _ if that’s true. 

Maybe he can try and talk to him again. If Matt ever gets the chance to see him. 

Maybe he’ll ask to see Ryan again. Even if it’s just so he can talk to Jackson. 

It’s not because of Ryan. It’s because of Jackson.


	3. a realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I swear to God, Matt, you were made in some kinda fuckin’ jailbait factory,” Ryan says when he comes back from the kitchen with a bottle of something in his hand. “You still call your dad ‘Daddy’?” 
> 
> “Yeah. Why is that weird? Do you think that’s weird?” Matt asks Jackson. 
> 
> “I think this whole situation in general is weird,” Jackson replies easily. “Ryan, why is this kid here again?”

Michelle doesn’t come over all week. She usually stops by at least once or twice, but she’s curiously absent. Matt can kind of imagine why. 

Ryan doesn’t text him all week, either. Which, like, you know. It’s whatever. That’s fine. Ryan’s an adult. He has a job. He did mention that he was going to work the other night, so, yeah, he’s probably busy. It’s not a big deal. 

_But,_ a tiny voice in Matt’s head nags, _what if it is?_

That _“What if it is?_ ” follows Matt all week. Because it shouldn’t be a big deal, but Matt just _feels_ like it is. Even though it _shouldn’t_ be. 

Matt finds himself writing listlessly in American lit on Wednesday. 

_I wish you’d let me come over_ _  
_ _I wish you’d tell me who you are_ _  
_ _I wish that we were something_ _  
_ _But I don’t think we are_

He thinks about the beat he made a few weeks ago, kind of cutesy and melancholy. A little synth-y. It isn’t right yet and he thinks it needs different drums, but it’s something. He thinks he can make it into a real track. It’ll give him something to focus on while he waits to get the fuck over himself. 

When he gets a text, it stops his heart for a second. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and sets it in his lap, glancing down when Mrs. Davidson occupies herself with her desk. 

_Started raining when I was out this morning. Thought of you cuz you kept babbling about how much you love the rain before you passed out on Saturday night_

Matt smiles so hard it’s embarrassing.

_did i actually? i don’t remember that_

_You did when we were cuddling  
_ _You’re an awfully small spoon for such an awfully tall kid_

_don’t be weird dude i’m at school right now_

_Don’t remind me_

It keeps Matt going. Like, no, it shouldn’t matter. It literally shouldn’t matter.

(But it does.)

*

It doesn’t matter so much that it sticks around in Matt’s head until the weekend. It rains almost all day on Friday and Ryan just sends him a picture of one of the windows in his bedroom that’s patterned with water. 

Matt doesn’t know why he does it, but he sends Ryan a selfie where he’s doing a thumbs-up. Just to say thanks for thinking of him, maybe. 

_You’re so fucking cute lol_ _  
_ _Now send me one with your ass out_

_i think that’s illegal. like that’s child pornography technically_

_Just tell the feds you were doing a bit_

_nah man i’m good_

_Pussy_

And, for a second, Matt almost considers doing it. Because it would be really, really funny to send a picture of his ass to Ryan, just to make him look at it when he’s at work or whatever it is he does. What’s one picture?

He eventually decides against it because _“What’s one picture?”_ seems very much like famous last words. It doesn’t mean that he doesn’t think about it, though. 

It’s fucking awful, but Matt’s thinking about it after his dad drops him off at St. Peter’s on Saturday night. He thinks about just the concept of sending Ryan a picture of his ass as he dons his robe in the choir room, but the temporary frustration of the robe always catching on his glasses gives him pause. The tie around his waist is equally distracting. It’s usually only him here at night on the weekends and he doesn’t necessarily _have_ to put the robe on if no one is going to see him, but God can still see him. It just feels wrong not to wear it in the sanctuary. 

Matt always goes through the motions of it all without thinking about it. It’s a ritual that he’s followed since he was eleven and he was finally strong enough to hold the candle snuffer and the silence of the church both terrified and awed him. It still feels holy now. 

When he’s swapping out the candles on the altar, he’s too invested in trying to get the notches to line up to hear the footsteps behind him. He hears the voice, though.

“Hey there, altar boy.”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Matt yelps as he flips around, dropping the other candles he has in his hands on the stone under the altar. Ryan’s sitting in the second left-hand pew, giggling and evidently pleased with himself. 

“Aw, I’m sorry. I am. C’mon, lemme help.” Ryan approaches the altar and kneels down to help collect the shattered remains of wax. “You’ve got more of these, right?”

“Yeah, there’s boxes of ‘em in the blue room.” Matt’s fingers brush Ryan’s while they’re cleaning up and it gives him butterflies. He pulls his hand back and Ryan smirks at him. 

“What?” Matt says defensively.

“Nothing.” Ryan straightens up and drops the candle pieces on the altar. “Hey, by the way, I missed you.”

“Oh, uh, thanks.” Matt bites his lip over a smile and bundles the pieces together, heading for the blue room for replacements. “Why didn’t you just say you missed me?”

“I was kind of hoping you’d come to me first.” Ryan looks up at the stained glass that lines the rest of the sanctuary, dark and washed out now that the sun has gone down. “I don’t like chasing people.”

“But you want _me_ to chase you.” Matt tosses the candle shards away in the trash and hunts for new ones. 

“Yeah, I do,” Ryan admits. “I like the feeling of it.” 

“What do you want me to chase you for?”

“For any reason. Everyone likes attention.” 

“Sure, yeah, I mean, I guess they do.” Matt returns to the altar and successfully replaces the candles this time. “Who doesn’t?”

“No one.” Ryan pinches Matt’s loose robe sleeve between his fingers and gives it a tug. “This makes you look younger. How come you wear this when there’s no one else here?”

“Uh… don’t make fun of me or anything, but I just feel like God wants me to.” Matt shrugs awkwardly, going to fetch a cup of water from the sink in the blue room. “It feels wrong if I don’t wear it. It’s like, these are my Christian duties, y’know? I gotta wear the uniform for it.” 

“Nah, I felt the same way when I was a kid.” When Matt returns, Ryan has his fingers curled around a banister, seeming to focus on one window in particular. The sin of Sodom and Gomorrah. “I haven’t been inside of a church in years.”

“Not since your wedding?” Matt asks pointedly. 

Ryan looks away to give him a bitter smile. “You ain’t getting that shit out of me that easy, Watson. I’ll tell you if and when I need to tell you. You ain’t tricking me into anything.” 

“I’m not trying to _trick_ you. I just don’t know anything about you. Like, nothing. I know you have a dog and a roommate and, like, now I know you used to go to church, but that’s all. Everything I know about you is shit I’ve heard from other people.” Matt bends down to water the calla lilies. He always spills just a little bit. “I told you a lot about myself the night we met, but you just kept asking me questions and you didn’t give me any information back. That’s a power imbalance.”

“I don’t think you know what that means, Matthew. Ask me anything you want.”

“Okay, when did you get married?”

“Anything other than that.” 

Matt rolls his eyes, returning to the blue room. “Alright, what do you do for a living? Like, what’s your job?”

“Oh, I’m a streamer. I do it, like, four or five days a week to make ends meet.”

“What do you do on the other days?” 

“I don’t know. Lay around and think about what a piece of shit I am. I play with Lego. I watch YouTube. Jackson and I watch movies. I smoke weed. I drink. I’m kind of in a rut right now, Matt, if you couldn’t tell.” Ryan rubs his eyes, suddenly looking tired. “I think that’s why I love your channel so much.”

“What, ‘cause it gets your dick hard?”

“No,” Ryan says, seriously enough that it makes Matt wilt a little bit. “No, it just reminds me of what I used to do with my friends back when I was in college. Back when I was really into sketch comedy and acting and filmmaking and shit. I think you’re funny. You and your friends are great. All, like, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”

“Why’d you stop?” Matt carefully folds the blue tapestry on the altar so he can replace it with green. The color of the Holy Spirit goes back in the blue room and the color of healing goes in its place. Sundays are meant for healing. 

“I went through some pretty rough stuff. I was basically, uh, left to my own devices and I didn’t wanna continue the channel after that. I went through a lot and it broke my spirit. I miss feeling that happy.”

“You could try it again,” Matt suggests, smoothing the green tapestry down. It can’t be wrinkled. Mostly because Father Ansel will kick his ass, and also because can’t really abide by doing a shitty job when this is the easiest job in the entire world. “You’re not that old.”

Ryan laughs a little. “I’m old enough. I’m almost twenty-seven, Matt.” 

“That’s not that old, dude. You’re not even thirty. There’s tons of people on YouTube who are way older than you. They make stupid, cringy shit all the time, every single day, and no one calls them out on it.”

“I dunno. I’ll think about it.” Ryan just looks at Matt for a moment, almost like he’s analyzing him. Matt blinks back at him, his hand hooked behind himself on the altar for support. 

“What?” Matt finally asks. 

“Nothing. Just thinking about how you’re the first person in years who’s told me that I matter.”

Matt’s mouth twitches as he reaches up to push his hair away from his face, sweeping the part that juts out to the side. “Yeah, uh, no problem, man. Someone should.” 

“You’re a sweet kid, you know that? Sweeter than most. A lot of kids are mean.” Ryan takes a step towards the altar, then another. Matt takes a step back and finds himself pressed against the marble, fingers sinking into the tapestry. “You’re not, though.”

“I don’t really like being mean.” Ryan’s close. Close enough that if he reached out just a little bit, he could touch Matt anywhere he wanted. “Unless people deserve it.”

Ryan leans in, his hand on Matt’s hip. “That’s not very Christian of you, is it, Matthew?” he whispers in Matt’s ear. 

“Ah,” Matt says in response, unable to manage much more than that. He’s thinking about the picture again. He’s thinking about last Saturday night. He’s thinking about the song he’s been trying to write. 

_I wish you’d tell me who you are_ _  
_ _I see you close and then you fade_ _  
_ _I am yours and you’re the rain_

Ryan drags his hand up Matt’s side, smoothing his fingers over the linen that drapes him in pure, stark, holy white. Ryan’s mouth being so close to his but not actually making any contact is making Matt dizzy, his breath hot, his heart beating rapidly. 

_I want to come over_ _  
_ _Let me come over_

Ryan closes the gap just as Matt’s sure he’s about to pass out. Matt is sober, hot under his acolyte robe, and Ryan is kissing him soundly enough to make his head spin. 

He’s not gay. Matt isn’t gay. Matt’s so not gay that he feels like he’s on fire, his hand reaching up to hold the side of Ryan’s head, fingers slipping to the side and pulling hair free from his bun. Ryan’s fingers slide around to grip Matt’s ass, pulling his hips flush against Ryan’s. Matt’s knees go weak and he’s sure he’d crash to the floor if Ryan wasn’t holding him. 

Matt still isn’t good at kissing, but he’s sure he was a lot worse the other night. Ryan’s tongue on his makes him feel so pliable, easy pickings, like his skin is soft enough to push through so someone could grab his heart and pull it back if they needed to. The altar digs into Matt’s back and the tie around his waist comes loose, reminding him of how wrong this is, that he’s dirty, he’s fucking filthy, that he is absolutely one-hundred-percent going to Hell no matter how good he is at repenting. No amount of _Most merciful God, we confess that we have sinned against you in thought, word, and deed, by what we have done and by what we have left undone_ is going to fix him. Matt is a creature of sin, naked and bestial, his stick-out bones crouching over earthly pleasures as if that’s the thing that’s going to last forever. 

The guilt makes him feel so dark and heavy that he has to pull away because Ryan has his thigh pressed against Matt’s dick and the pressure is so fucking wonderful that Matt can’t take it. He can’t do any of this. He gasps and licks his lips, feeling his eyes brim with tears. “I can’t,” he croaks. “N-not here. Or at all. Ever.” 

“Matt,” Ryan says, his tone quiet with sympathy as he reaches up to cradle Matt’s cheek in his hand. Matt’s eyes spill over as he leans into it, his shoulders giving a strange jolt as he tries not to keep crying. 

“I’m sorry. I-I don’t know what’s wrong with me. There’s something wrong with me. There has to be.” 

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you, okay? I know you think there is, but there’s not. I know you think that you’re doing something wrong, that no one’s gonna love you for it, but you’re not. You’re okay. You’re fine.”

All Matt can do is shrug a little and look away, his lip trembling. “I think I’m really fucked up,” he says hollowly. “I don’t deserve to be here.” 

Ryan just gives him a hug. Ryan smells like cinnamon and sweat in a good way, in a comfortable way, warm and distinctly male. He’s so warm and he fits into every crack that Matt has, soft and round where Matt is angular and sharp. Matt holds him tight and Ryan holds him back, not letting go until Matt’s breathing steadies again. 

“Hey.” Ryan squeezes Matt’s shoulder. “You wanna come back to my place?”

*

“Hey, Dad, I have to finish this presentation for school by, like, tomorrow, so I’m gonna stop at the library to work on it. You don’t have to pick me up. I’ll walk.” 

It takes a minute of convincing and promising that he’s going to be fine, that it really won’t be that late, that he’s gonna be home by eleven after the library closes, it’s not even a school night and he knows it’s a church night, yeah, but he’s still gonna be home by twelve, church doesn’t start until ten-thirty anyway. Dale eventually relents. 

“Alright, but I wish you would’ve said something earlier,” he tells Matt, lightly frustrated, but it’s not like there’s much he can do. “You got your key on you so I don’t have to leave the door unlocked?”

“Yes, sir.” 

“Be home by eleven.”

“Yes, sir. Bye, Daddy.” There’s a distinct thrill about lying to Dale when he’s in Ryan’s apartment. It’s so bold that it makes Matt feel excited. It makes him smile. 

“I swear to God, Matt, you were made in some kinda fuckin’ jailbait factory,” Ryan says when he comes back from the kitchen with a bottle of something in his hand. “You still call your dad ‘Daddy’?” 

“Yeah. Why is that weird? Do _you_ think that’s weird?” Matt asks Jackson, who’s sitting in an armchair with Lego on his lap. Lego is much too big to be a lapdog, but he doesn’t realize it, panting happily as Jackson scratches behind his ears. 

“I think this whole situation in general is weird,” Jackson replies easily. “Ryan, why is this kid here again?”

“Sexuality crisis. He needs some TLC, Jackson. Drink up,” Ryan urges Matt, handing him the bottle of something. 

“TLC is more alcohol?” 

“Yes, Jackson. I’m a better babysitter than you are. I know what the kid needs.”

“What is it?” Matt asks warily, holding the neck of the bottle. 

“It’s just wine. Plum wine, actually. And, uh, considering your channel, you’re a huge fucking weaboo, so you should like this. It’s Japanese.”

“Vaguely racist,” Matt remarks before sipping the wine. It’s sweet. It kind of tastes a little bit like grape juice, but way richer, stinging just a bit afterwards from the alcohol. “Oh, actually, yeah, hey, this _is_ pretty good.” 

“This isn’t gonna help with his sexuality crisis, Ryan,” Jackson says with a frown. “I think having him over here at all is probably a bad idea.”

“Why? Don’t you like him? Look at this face.” Ryan smooshes Matt’s chin in his hand and kisses his cheek. “I think we need another puppy around here.”

“You remember when I told you not to get in trouble again?” 

“I’m not in trouble. We’re cool. Everyone’s cool. What, you think we’re gonna get _caught?_ ” Ryan takes the bottle from Matt before Matt has even finished drinking from it and Matt whines, kicking at him. 

“Yeah,” Jackson says. “Yeah, I do think that.”

Ryan blows a raspberry and tips the wine bottle back. Jackson rolls his eyes. “Okay. Matt.” He sets Lego down on the floor with a grunt and Lego trots over to curl up on the couch next to Ryan. “You’re having a sexuality crisis?”

“I…” It seems just disingenuous to lie to both himself and people who aren’t part of his family at this point. And he _did_ want to talk to Jackson. That’s the whole point of this, right? “Yeah,” Matt admits, looking down and smoothing out a wrinkle in his shirt. “I guess I am.” 

“Is it because of Ryan or are there other factors? I mean, of course there’s other factors, but I’m just wondering how much thought you gave it before.”

Matt takes the wine bottle back and drinks from it for long enough for it to burn his throat. Ryan yanks it back. “Don’t fuckin’ deepthroat it, Christ.” 

“I, uh. I don’t know. I’ve always watched a lot of gay porn. I always get a boner in PE when guys bump into me or tackle me or hold me down or something. It’s just felt weird the last few times I’ve kissed girls. I do, like, I do this thing with my hands where they’re like…” Matt holds up his limp wrist. “...and that’s supposed to be a sign or something. Oh my God.” He buries his face in his hands. “I’m fucking gay. I am.” 

“Good for you,” Jackson says cheerily. “Hey, you figured it out! Now you don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

“I don’t have to _worry_ about it anymore?” Matt says, incredulous as he takes the wine bottle back. “My dad’s gonna kill me. My mom’s gonna kill me, too. All the kids at school are gonna be right. They spray-painted ‘faggot’ across my locker and slammed my face into the wall until my glasses broke. I’ve had guys throw bottles at me out of their trucks before just for going out in a pair of fucking skinny jeans. I have _everything_ to worry about!” 

“That would’ve happened to you one way or another, Matthew,” Ryan says, patting the leg that Matt has thrown over his lap. “They already thought you were gay to begin with. It’s South Carolina. Shit don’t change.” 

“Ryan, none of that makes me feel better. None of this is making me feel better. Sure, I guess I’m not, like, _confused_ anymore, but now I have to deal with the fucking fact that my dad is gonna hate me now for the rest of my life.” Matt’s sip of wine is too big and he coughs and splutters. “I ca—ugh—I c-can’t come out or anything. I can’t. Shit, how did _you_ deal with this?” he asks Ryan, desperate for answers. 

Ryan snorts. “I didn’t deal with any of this. I’m not gay, Matt.” 

Matt squints at him. “You’re not gay,” he repeats slowly. 

Ryan shakes his head. “I’m not gay.”

“Are you fucking with me, or—?”

“I don’t consider myself a homosexual. Because I know I’m not. I’m not even really a bisexual, because _you,_ Matthew, are one of the only male individuals that I’ve ever been interested in. You’re pretty much a girl anyways.”

“That’s homophobic. Jackson, tell him that’s homophobic.”

“Matt, you just figured out that you’re gay thirty seconds ago. Pace yourself. You don’t know what’s homophobic yet.” Jackson jumps out of his chair. “I’ll make you guys real drinks.” 

Matt finishes the bottle off and he already feels terribly woozy. “Are you gay, Jackson?” he asks, sounding vague and floaty. 

“No, I’m not, but thanks for asking.”

“I dunno who’s supposed to help me with this.” Matt exhales and bounces his leg on top of Ryan’s lap a few times. “Ryan, why aren’t you gay?”

“That’s a good question, Matt, but I think to answer it, we’d have to get into a whole lot of philosophy that I can usually only get into when I’m drugged out of my mind.” Ryan rubs Matt’s shin in a gentle rhythm. “It’d probably make things easier for you, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah, it’s all fucking so complicated. I hate it. I hate all of it.” Matt closes his eyes as he lays his head against the couch’s armrest. “I never should’ve gone to that goddamn party.”

“Aw, c’mon, Matt, doesn’t say that.” Ryan grabs Matt’s arm and pulls him forward until Matt winds up in his lap. Matt squeaks. “You would’ve been gay even if you _hadn’t_ gone to that party.”

“Thanks, Ryan.” Ryan is very warm. Very solid. Through no fault of his own, he finds himself straddling Ryan’s thighs, turning pink. 

“Can you kiss me again now that you’re gay, though?” Ryan asks, threading his fingers through Matt’s hair. 

“There’s, um, there’s other reasons I shouldn’t kiss you besides me being gay or not.” Right now, though, Matt’s finding it difficult to focus on any of them. “Like… you’re old.”

“You told me earlier how very much not old I am. I’m not even thirty, Matt.”

“It’s old compared to me.”

“Most people are old compared to you. Look at you.” Ryan tips Matt’s chin down and kisses him hard, as though Matt would’ve had a chance in the first place. 

Even though Matt is gay now, he still can’t shake the guilt. It’s so hard to chase it away even though Ryan feels so good. Matt loves to be held, he loves to be kissed, he loves to be treated like he’s something worth holding on to, but he still feels the shame deep in his gut. 

Maybe there’s some part of it that makes it better. The shame just makes Matt feel hot all over. It makes his heart beat faster. When Ryan pushes his hand up Matt’s shirt, it makes his skin buzz. He’s a livewire, humming, bright and beautiful and alive. 

“I made you drinks,” Jackson says behind them, his voice faint. 

Matt jerks away from Ryan, blushing bright red. “S-sorry.”

Ryan snickers and holds out his hand. Jackson slips a dark glass into his hand, ice clinking. “What’d you make us, Jackson? What are you corrupting the youth with tonight?”

“You’re one to talk, Jesus. It’s a Black Russian. We need to get rid of the Kaluha.” 

“What’s a Black Russian?” Matt asks, his brow furrowing as he scoots off Ryan’s lap. “I’ve heard of a White Russian, but not, like the dark version of that.” He accepts the glass and peeks inside. 

“It’s just vodka and Kaluha. Nothing fancy,” Jackson answers. “Don’t drink it too fast, ‘cause you look like you’re about ninety pounds and I don’t really want to be responsible for you getting so fucked up so quickly.” 

“Don’t listen to him,” Ryan dismisses, sipping his drink. “Besides, Jackson, Matt’s already drunk anyway. This was a really bad idea to begin with if you were actually scared that you were gonna get little Miss Watson ‘so fucked up so quickly’.” 

“‘Miss’? Why am I ‘Miss’?” Matt takes a drink and coughs immediately, a lot harder than he did when he was drinking the wine. It burns like shit and it’s _so_ alcoholic, like he’s drinking straight poison. Ryan laughs at him and leans over to give him a kiss on the cheek. 

“That’s why. Jackson, why are you giving a fifteen-year-old a Black Russian? You’re seriously, like, the backwater of society.” 

“I don’t know why you’re trying to push your guilt off onto me. I’m just experimenting with my bartending skills.” Jackson nudges at Matt so he can sit on the couch and Matt shuffles over, tumbling back into Ryan’s lap. Ryan holds him tight with his free hand, clutching at his arm. The heat radiates through Matt in waves. “Although I don’t think ‘guilt’ was ever much of a concept to begin with.”

“What do I have to be guilty about?” Maybe it’s just to establish some kind of dominance, but Ryan chugs the rest of his drink all in one go and Matt blinks at him in awe. “The fuck should I feel guilty for? Look at this kid! Look at his sweet little face! His tiny little body! His plush little thighs!”

“I don’t wanna look at any of those,” Jackson says noncommittally. “I think you should feel guilty for all of them, though.”

 _“I’m_ the one who should feel guilty,” Matt interjects, drinking as much as he can in one sip without burning a hole through his fucking chest. He throws his arm behind Ryan’s neck. _“I’m_ the guilty one. I’m the gross one ‘cause I keep leading him on and shit. S’all my fault. Look at me with the fuckin’, like, my face and my body and my thighs, like Ryan said. I’m a cocktease.” Matt giggles rapidly and kisses Ryan’s beard. “I remember now, you called me a cocktease the other night. By definition, I am teasing your cock.” 

“Matt, I want you to know that Ryan is not the person you should be looking towards so you can help explore your sexuality,” Jackson says, quiet and firm. “You should find someone your own age, okay? I know what I just gave you and what kind of situation we have going on right now, but, uh, do as I say, not as I do, etcetera. You should hook up with other fifteen-year-olds.”

“What, you want Matt to have sex with other kids? Other kids who also don’t know what the fuck you’re doing? Kids who won’t teach him anything? Do you get off to that or something? Jackson, do you get off to the idea of kids having sex?” Ryan rubs Matt’s arm as he talks and Matt is flushed with delight. He’s never been so _clung_ to before. Not subconsciously. He feels, well… 

Loved. Matt feels loved. 

“Matt, do you hear what I’m saying?” Jackson asks, ignoring Ryan entirely. 

“Uh, yeah, sounds like a whole bunch of lame pussy bullshit saying that I shouldn’t take risks or enjoy myself or make my own decisions,” Matt says, rolling his eyes. “I’ll kiss whoever I wanna kiss! If I wanted to kiss other guys at my school, I would! If I wanna kiss Ryan, I will. Ryan, kiss me. I’m making my own decisions. Kiss me, Ryan.” 

And Ryan does. It’s brief and smacking on Matt’s lips and Ryan tastes so sickeningly, wonderfully sweet. “See? I can do whatever I want.” He kisses Ryan again and he realizes that, right after he does it, it’s the first time that he kisses Ryan first instead of the other way around. “If I wanna kiss Ryan a million times, like, a _billion_ times, I’m gonna do it. You can’t stop me and neither can my dad and neither can Father Ansel and neither can God. No one fuckin’ can.”

“Yeah,” Jackson says with a sigh, getting back to his feet. “I’m going to bed, okay? Ryan, make sure he gets home. Don’t drive him. But get him home somehow.”

“You know me. Responsible adult.” Ryan gently urges Matt’s glass towards his mouth and Matt grins at him before swallowing the rest of the drink.

This is a different kind of drunk from the other night. For one, Matt remembers things right now, which is a lot more than he can say for what happened on Saturday. For another, his stomach doesn’t feel so full. He feels woozy and heavy, but it doesn’t feel him up and make him lethargic. He’s happy. Holy fuck, he’s so happy. 

Sure, he might be gay now, his entire life might be upside down, Matt might be brutally, royally fucked, but Ryan is here and Ryan is cool and he’s older and he’s sexy and he seems to like Matt more than anyone else in the world does. And he has a dog who’s really sweet. Matt can afford to be happy for once in his fucking life because nothing else in the world makes him happy. Not like this. 

He kisses Ryan first again because Matt feels a glorious thrill from being able to do that first. Ryan slides his hand back up Matt’s shirt, fingers playing across his spine like they’re a set of piano keys, tracing the planes of his back. Matt grips the back of Ryan’s neck, his languid, lazy sigh muffled and lost between their lips. At some point, Ryan takes the empty glass from his hand and pushes it aside. 

“You’re so fucking cute,” Ryan whispers when they break, grabbing a handful of Matt’s ass and squeezing, kissing the corner of his mouth. Matt gasps a little in response, feeling an instantaneous tightness in his jeans. “So fucking cute. I thought about you all week. How you felt around me.”

“S-so that means you wanna fuck me again?” Matt can’t even fathom that. He can’t believe that someone wants him, actually wants to _be_ with him. Even though Ryan pushed him up against the altar earlier, it’s still so hard for Matt to grasp that he’s an object of sexual desire. 

Matt can feel Ryan smile against his neck. His teeth sink in just barely and Matt shudders, twisting a fistful of Ryan’s shirt in his hand. “Yes, Matt, I wanna fuck you again.” 

“Wow, that’s so cool, mister,” Matt says, his voice high-pitched and breathy, the same stupid little-boy voice he uses for sketch comedy and he doesn’t fucking know why he does it or why he decides to turn this into a joke. He’s not in his right mind. Regardless, though, it makes Ryan laugh really fucking hard and that goes right to Matt’s head. 

“Like you’re some showtune singer in the fuckin’, like, nineteen-fourties or something. I’m gonna make you famous, Matthew.” Ryan presses Matt down into the couch, fitting snugly between his long, gangly limbs. “We’re gonna go to L.A. and we’re gonna be world-famous. You as the shiny little piece I got next to me and me as the producer.” 

“You’re gonna make me famous, Mr. Magee? You promise?” Matt bats his eyelashes. 

“Oh, Matt, I’m gonna give you all you want and more. I’m gonna make you so famous, baby. Everyone in the world’s gonna know your name.” Ryan leans down to kiss him again. Matt just automatically hitches his leg up over Ryan’s hips because it feels right. It’s not something he’s ever done before, but he’s happy with letting his body tell him what he needs to do. It hasn’t been wrong yet. Ryan is so good with his tongue that Matt’s head swims with the idea of what else it could do.

“Are we—ah—are we gonna be millionaires? Are we gonna live in Hollywood?” Matt asks, his heart pounding as Ryan reaches down to unzip his jeans. 

“We’ll live wherever you want, babe. If you wanna live in the Hollywood Hills, that’s where we’re gonna be. Anywhere you wanna go. We could travel, too. We could go anywhere.”

“Can we go to Japan?” Matt asks breathlessly. “Ryan, take me to Japan, I wanna go to Japan.”

“I’ll take you to Japan.” Ryan pulls Matt’s cock out of the front of his boxer briefs and Matt feels lightheaded. He already feels that anxious, whitehot build between his hips that makes him feel like he’s going to come soon and that is really, really embarrassing. “You wanna go to Japan, Matt? What’s in Japan?”

“Uh, uh, the, the food, there’s, um, sushi, I love sushi. There’s anime. And hentai. Maybe I’m gay, but not for 2D girls. Like, lolis.” Matt can’t stop babbling. He can’t keep his fucking mouth shut and he doesn’t know why. All he knows is that he wants Ryan to know _everything_ about him and that Ryan’s hand on his dick feels so much better than any time he’s ever touched himself. “A-and there’s lots of stores I wanna go to. Lots of cool stores. There’s so many cool stores, Ryan.”

“I bet there are, Matt.” Ryan kisses Matt’s throat and strokes his fist up. “I’ll take you there someday. We’re gonna travel the world together.”

“Oh, God, fuck. Are we?” Matt’s back arches and his hips snap up against Ryan’s hand. “Are we really? Oh, shit, fuck, I think I’m gonna come,” he gasps. “Feels so good.”

“Really? Already? Jesus, I forgot how fuckin’ sensitive kids like you are.” Ryan kisses a spot on Matt’s neck that makes him absolutely melt, practically mewling, drawing up tight. “You gonna come for Daddy?”

That word sends such a sharp shot through Matt that he falls apart instantly. He can work out exactly why later, or maybe he won’t; maybe he’ll just lock it in a box and then never, ever think about it ever, ever again. In the now, he cries out and trembles underneath Ryan, spilling onto his stomach and Ryan’s shirt. 

His orgasm hits him like a punch in the stomach and, similarly to a punch in the stomach, it takes Matt a bit to recover from it. His eyes shut behind his glasses, his chest rises and falls heavily, his fingers going lax on Ryan’s back. “Sorry,” he says, his voice cracking. 

Ryan just kisses the tip of his nose. “S’okay. I figured something like that would happen.”

“Do you want me to…?” Matt reaches for the bulge in Ryan’s shorts and Ryan shakes his head, pushing his hand away. 

“Not now. I’m trying to work backwards. I wanna try and take things a little slower with you now.”

“What kind of things are they? Like, what’s our thing?”

“I dunno yet,” Ryan says thoughtfully, straightening up so he can wipe the cum off his shirt with his fingers. “We’ll have to see.”

“Are we dating? Are you, like, my boyfriend?” Matt lets out a dazed giggle. “What the fuck, no, that’s weird. That’s too weird.”

“It _is_ too weird. I’m not your boyfriend, Matt.” Ryan fixes his glasses for him and Matt’s fingers try to loosely grab his wrist. He doesn’t quite make it. “I don’t want you to think of me as your boyfriend, either.”

Not that Matt was planning on it, but he is curious as to why Ryan dislikes that idea so much. “Why?” he asks, remembering to zip his jeans back up. 

“I’m not, uh. I’m not a good boyfriend. I don’t want you to rely on me like that.” Ryan scrubs his sticky fingers off with a crumpled napkin from the coffee table and gives Matt’s ruined t-shirt a cursory pat with it as well. “You wanna watch a movie?”

“Yeah, we could watch a movie. Let’s watch—let’s watch a good movie.” When Matt sits up, he just ends up leaning back into Ryan’s side. “The best movie.”

“What’s the best movie?”

“I dunno,” Matt mumbles, nuzzling his shoulder. “Pick something.”

Ryan does. He finds something on Netflix, some kind of documentary, maybe, because Matt mentions that he finds serial killers fascinating, but he doesn’t know what the documentary is about. Matt begins to doze off almost instantly, finding what he thinks might genuinely be inner peace in the way Ryan smells and the way his shirt feels. 

“Can you be my boyfriend tonight?” Matt says, the last thing he can manage before he falls completely asleep.

“If you want,” Ryan murmurs, squeezing his shoulder.

Matt tries to say “Thanks”, but his mouth won’t move when he tells it to. 

*

Matt wakes up with a minor headache and a dull, grey light beating through the windows, blinding him when he first opens his eyes. There’s a screen window across from him that wind whips through. His body is crumpled, his neck aching. Some parts of him are feverish and some parts are freezing. He’s tucked into Ryan, who’s still soundly asleep.

Unlike the Saturday night prior, Matt remembers everything from last night very clearly. The good and the bad. He remembers everything they did and everything they talked about. He remembers how he felt and how it was so uniquely kind of, like, beautiful, actually. 

Matt rests his head back on Ryan’s chest and closes his eyes again. He can sleep a little longer. 

It lasts for all of three seconds before he feels his phone buzz in his back pocket. Matt wrenches his eyes back open so he can look at the screen. 

His heart stops when it comes up as his father. Matt slept overnight. He fucking slept overnight when he was supposed to be back at home by twelve. He missed church. His breath catching fast, Matt scrambles up, feeling like he’s about to throw up on the floor right here and now. 

Dale hangs up after a moment, it seems, and Matt can see the four other missed calls from him and the three missed calls from his mother. He can see all the text notifications, going from angry to panicked to terrified. 

“Ryan, Ryan, wake up, you have to take me home. Ryan!” Matt shakes Ryan’s shoulder and Ryan just groans and rolls over, mumbling something incoherent. 

Dale’s number pops up again, ringing insistently. Matt tries to swallow hard past the lead in his throat and accepts the call.

“Hey, Dad,” Matt forces out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry that this chapter is a little shorter than the others; school is killing me. hopefully the softcore porn and cliffhanger makes up for it!


	4. a fracture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’ve always known you’ve been different. Your mom and I, we’ve always known. Something just ain’t quite right. Not in the head. Not anywhere else, either. We knew when you were stealing Sam’s dolls and her makeup when you were young, when you started walking around in those little faggot jeans and you never even bothered to give girls half a chance. Always rubbing my nose in the dirt. Just rejecting everything you’ve ever been taught. Just ‘cause you feel like you gotta be different. And it’s my fault, you know; I don’t think I taught you right. Wasn’t there enough when you were young. Couldn’t drive it out of you. I ain’t blaming you and I ain’t blaming God. I’m blaming myself.” Dale sighs, all tight and hard. “What a fucking disappointment.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fair warning: this chapter is a LOT rougher than the others have been so far and it contains explicit incestuous noncon, as implied by the new set of tags. you can avoid it if you want by stopping at _It’s a mystical kind of crime, something so creepy and weird and uncomfortable and gross that it doesn’t feel real._ and ctrl+f'ing or scrolling until you come to _When his mother hugs him tearfully at the house, Matt is so cold that he doesn’t even react to it._

“Where in the hell are you?” Dale demands as soon as Matt picks up. He can hear Ann gasp in the background, sounding weak with relief. “I’ve been calling you for hours, we were about to put out an AMBER Alert, your mother has been  _ crying _ over you—”

“Dad, I’m fine! I’m fine! Everything’s fine! I just, I, I-I slept overnight at a friend’s, I met him at the library and—”

“And you didn’t think to call? You didn’t even text? You didn’t think to do anything? I swear to God, boy, you’re in for a  _ world _ of hurt when you get home. Where the hell are you right now, Matthew? What are you doing?”

“I’m in West Ashley,” Matt says, his voice small and quivering. Ryan rolls back over and looks up at him, blinking hazily, sleepy and confused. 

_ “West Ashley!?” _ Dale’s voice is so loud that it hurts Matt’s ear. It’s so angry that Matt can almost physically feel the sting across his ass from when he was younger, his father’s belt whipping across him, and the thought of it makes him freeze with fear. “What in God’s name are you doing in West Ashley!?”

“He’s a friend from youth group!” Matt claims desperately, his heart pounding in his throat. “I just, you know, we ran into each other at the library and he asked me to come back to his place to play video games! That’s all!” 

“And you couldn’t call? You couldn’t text? You couldn’t tell us  _ anything? _ I got half a mind to beat you within an inch of your life the second you get in this house.”

“I-I’m sorry I missed church—”

_ “Church? _ The hell with church. We didn’t end up going because of you!” There’s a scuffle in the background and Matt suddenly hears his mother’s voice on the phone. 

“Do you have any idea how scared we were for you?” Ann says, choked up and wet. “Do you know what it’s like for me to lie awake worrying that someone hurt you? Oh my God, Matt.” She sniffles and Matt feels worse than he’s ever felt in his whole life. “I thought you were hurt. I thought someone took you.”

Someone did, in essence, and it’s his fault. It’s Matt’s fault a little bit, but it’s mostly Ryan’s fault. Above all his inner turmoil and anxiety, Matt feels a surge of anger at Ryan, Ryan who’s just scrolling through his phone on the couch without a care in the world, his hair loose and crumpled and a little greasy around his head. 

“No, Mom, I’m fine,” Matt mumbles. “Nothing happened. I’m fine.”

“You won’t be when you get home, I can tell you that much. Oh my God. You don’t have any idea how much trouble you’re in. Give your dad the address right now so he can come get you.”

Matt’s heart sinks even further, if possible. “I can get home by myself!”

“You’re not in any position to bargain, Matthew. Text it to him now or I swear I’ll call the police.” 

There’s another pause and another scuffle. “How far away are you?” Dale asks, hard and grating on Matt’s ear. 

“It’s, like. It’s about forty minutes.” 

“Forty minutes,” Dale repeats under his breath. “Forty minutes. Goddamnit, Matt.” On principle, Matt’s father never takes the Lord’s name in vain. It only scares Matt further. “Fine. Text me that address.” He ends the call and Matt just stands for a moment, his shoes stuck to the floor. 

He whips around to face Ryan, who gives him this big, sad, guilty, puppy-eyes expression. “Hey, Matt, listen, I’m sorry about—”

“Fucking save it, asshole. Jesus Christ, I’m gonna get grounded until I’m fucking  _ thirty. _ My mom’s gonna take my phone. My life is over now.” Matt starts to tremble, his tongue drying up in his mouth, a minor fever overtaking him. He has to start pacing, his breath coming to him rapidly. “Shit, shit, shit, everything is over. All of it. I’m not gonna get to do anything. Fuck, I have to  _ film _ shit! We were supposed to go to Kiawah next week! Oh my God, this is so fucking stupid. This is so stupid!”

“Matt, calm the fuck down, it’s not the end of the world. You’re not a teenager forever. What’s the most that they can even do? Ground you? Sure, yeah, I  _ guess, _ but who gives a shit? Just sneak out!” 

“Are you fucking kidding me, Ryan? Are you even  _ listening _ to yourself? I’m a teenager right  _ now _ and I’m still gonna be for the next three years! For all I know, they’re gonna ground me for that long anyway! This is all your fault. Why did you get me drunk again!?”

“First of all, Matt, you’re screaming at a frequency that only Lego can hear right now.” Upon hearing his name, Lego lifts his head and yawns, stretching out on the floor. He pads over to hop on the couch next to his master as Ryan continues, “Second of all, I’m not force-feeding you anything. ‘Getting someone drunk’ is just like statutory rape and drug dealing and prostitution and shit—it removes the concept of agency from the supposed victim. You get in trouble for having sexual relations with someone who’s underage, but they don’t prosecute the underage individual who chose to have sex with someone over eighteen. You get in trouble for dealing drugs, and, like, yeah, you get in a lot of trouble for doing drugs, but you also get in trouble for just trying to make a living. And with prostitution, too; you pay someone to—”

“Shut the fuck up, Ryan.” Matt’s too scared and angry to be patient enough for whatever broken train of thought Ryan is trying to chase. He remembers to text his father the address and he just geolocates it, too embarrassed to ask what it is. “You were supposed to take me home, dick.”

“I know, I know, and I’m sorry. I am. I know that was on me. You just, like, you looked so peaceful, you know? I like it when you’re asleep. You’re so beautiful, but so unaware of it, Matthew.”

Matt’s expression screws up into frustration and repulsion. “You think shitty indie music references are gonna win me over?”

“I don’t know, I dated a chick once who was around your age who was into that shit.” 

“Now I’m, like, double-pissed at you. Fuck you, man.” Matt shoves his phone in his pocket and heads for the door. 

“No, Matt, hang on, listen, I really am sorry.” Ryan scrambles up so he can snatch Matt’s wrist. Matt yanks it away, his face heating up just from the way that Ryan touching him at all makes him feel. “I didn’t mean to get you in trouble. It was a mistake. I don’t want that to get in the way of whatever we’ve got.”

“I don’t even know what we’ve got! You won’t let me put a label on it! This is gonna keep me from seeing you at  _ all,  _ okay? And it’s your fault. You did this. And it sucks, ‘cause you’re one of the only friends I care about right now.” Matt feels so small and upset, making himself feel sick with uncertainty. “I—I don’t know when we’re even gonna be able to talk again. And I hate it. I hate it because you did that. It sucks that you suck.” With a furious exhilaration, Matt throws the door open and slams it back in Ryan’s face. The thrill of defiance dies instantly, settling like a dead weight inside him when he shoves his hands in his pockets and starts down the hall. 

*

The drive is quiet and horribly awkward for the first few minutes. The radio plays low as a talk show drones on. Matt catches tired, predictable talking points that he tries to make up arguments against in his head as a distraction, but then his father decides to open his mouth and all Matt’s hopes to make himself feel less ill are dashed. 

“I don’t know what’s going on with you lately, boy,” Dale mutters, keeping his eyes steady on the windshield. “West Ashley, for Christ’s sake.” He shakes his head and rubs his hand over his mouth for a moment before speaking again. “I ain’t stupid, you know. I know you ain’t going out to see any of your little school friends. Not with the way you’ve been acting.”

Matt feels something cold bloom inside him, freezing his veins. He doesn’t know what to say. His mouth just moves helplessly for half a second. 

“I’ve always known you’ve been different.” Dale’s voice is low and bitter and sad and the same feeling of shame from last night returns, but a thousand times worse. Matt has to look out the passenger window and swallow hard against the tears that jump to his eyes. “Your mom and I, we’ve always known. Something just ain’t quite right. Not in the head. Not anywhere else, either. We knew when you were stealing Sam’s dolls and her makeup when you were young, when you started walking around in those little faggot jeans and you never even bothered to give girls half a chance. Always rubbing my nose in the dirt. Just rejecting everything you’ve ever been taught. Just ‘cause you feel like you gotta be different. And it’s my fault, you know; I don’t think I taught you right. Wasn’t there enough when you were young. Couldn’t drive it out of you. I ain’t blaming you and I ain’t blaming God. I’m blaming myself.” Dale sighs, all tight and hard. “What a fucking disappointment.”

Matt sees nothing but a blur outside, a mass of green and grey swimming in front of his eyes. He’s a disappointment. He’s worth nothing to his father because he’s a sinner, he’s indulgent, he hates God, he’s not really a man. “I didn’t wanna be this way, Dad,” he forces out, hating how watery his voice sounds. “I tried. I really did. To be—to be better. I’m sorry.” 

“Stop crying, dammit. This is the shit I’m talking about.” 

Predictably, this just makes things worse. Matt tries to wipe his eyes under his glasses and shakes with the effort of trying not to make noise, whimpering under his breath like a wounded puppy. 

“I’ll give you something to cry about. You need to be taught a lesson. I’m sick to death of this shit from you.” Dale turns onto an exit, the exit for one of the campgrounds that Matt’s Scout troop used to claim years ago. Matt’s so confused that he stops crying, sniffing and turning his head to look at Dale. 

“W-where are we going?” 

“Where no one can hear us.” Dale’s voice is dark. It’s devoid of anything. His knuckles are practically white on the steering wheel. 

Matt has no idea what’s going on, but the fear he felt before was nothing compared to what he feels right now. 

Dale stops the car when they’re hidden among an overgrowth of pine trees, shrouding them in shadow and dampness. As soon as he cuts the engine, he shoves the car door open and throws it shut behind him. Matt feels each individual beat of his heart and it feels like a stab inside him each time. 

Dale pulls the passenger door open. “Get out.”

The only thing that makes Matt move is not knowing how bad it’ll be if he doesn’t. He’d be frozen to his seat otherwise. “Dad?” he croaks. “What—”

“Keep your mouth shut.” Dale opens a rear door and grabs Matt’s wrist, pulling him over like he weighs less than nothing. As tall as Matt is getting, he’s still so much smaller than his father. He’s probably always going to be. 

Dale’s hand fists into Matt’s hair and shoves him down, heel digging into the back of Matt’s head. Matt hits the upholstery, the wind leaving his lungs too fast as his cheek sticks to the faux leather. His hand shoots out for balance, his fingernails digging into the car seat, the heel of his shoe scraping over the ground outside. Everything inside him seems to pound: his head, his heart, his guts, the insides of his ears, everything that needs blood to function. 

“God didn’t make you for this. He didn’t make any man for this. This ain’t supposed to feel right and it ain’t supposed to feel good. This shit hurts for a reason. I know whoever you’re sneaking out to go see, the filthy fucking queer that you’re letting touch you, he doesn’t make you feel good, Matty. It ain’t natural and you’re not supposed to like it. I know it’s gotta tear you up whenever you let it happen.” Dale bends over him and Matt feels the pressure of his body, almost dizzy and lightheaded with terror and despair. “Where does it hurt, boy?”

A few years ago, even when he was much, much too old to get spanked, Matt still vividly recalls how it felt when Dale would force him over his knee. His belt stung so badly that it would leave behind welts, harsh and red, making it hard to sit down for the next few days. It was humiliating and it hurt and it was scary and it still works its way into Matt’s nightmares sometimes. It was the worst punishment he got, even if it was so much short-lived than anything else he’d get. For a long time, it was the most afraid of his father that Matt felt.

This is unparalleled. This is beyond that. Far, far beyond that. Matt can’t form any coherent response to what Dale asks of him. He just makes a cracked, barely-there noise that’s caught in a lump in his throat. 

“Nothing to say? You got nothing for me?” Dale twists his hand in Matt’s hair and it hurts. Matt squeezes his teary eyes shut behind his lopsided glasses. “Tell me what he did to you, son.”

“H-he didn’t do anything,” Matt manages. “Dad, I swear, I haven’t done anything with him.”

“So there is someone.”

“No, no! No, th-there’s—there’s not, there’s not, I promise, there’s not, not really. I-it’s a friend. It’s just a friend.”

“I know you’re lying. Of course you are. How long have you been lying to me, Matthew?” 

“I’m not, Dad.” Matt feels his chest seize up for a moment, heaving a few times. “Please, I’m not.”

“Bullshit.” Matt hears a clinking noise and he’s baffled for a moment until he realizes it’s the sound of Dale’s belt. Before he can make a reasonable assumption as to what’s going to happen next, Dale whips the belt over Matt’s mouth and pulls it until it’s tight between Matt’s teeth, gagging him. “Fucking bullshit. I can never trust you with anything.”

The next thing Matt hears is the sound of a zipper. Maybe it’s just because this entire situation has broken some piece inside of Matt’s head permanently already, but he can’t understand what’s happening right up until there’s a rustling of fabric. 

His head jerks up, trying to turn, but it can’t. Not with the position Dale’s got him in. Matt thinks there’s literally no fucking way whatsoever that his own father could possibly think of doing something like this to him. Not in a million years. Things like this happen to kids, sure, but not him. That’s a horrible made-up thing that only happens to people that Matt doesn’t know. It’s a mystical kind of crime, something so creepy and weird and uncomfortable and gross that it doesn’t feel real. 

Matt’s made jokes before about how his dad is projecting when it comes to his hatred of the gay community. How his jabs are deep-rooted in his hidden desire to have gay sex himself. He’s joked about how Dale wants to fuck him, how Matt is completely irresistible to his evangelical father. But they were just stupid jokes because Matt likes to make stupid jokes. They were jokes about that horrible made-up thing that could never happen to him. Not ever. 

This is made-up. This isn’t happening. This can’t be fucking real. Dale isn’t ripping his clothes off. This isn’t happening. 

But it is. It is and Matt knows it is the head of Dale’s cock is pressing against him the same way Ryan’s did when they had sex. 

“Daddy,” Matt sobs into the belt in his mouth, muffled and toothy. He tries to beg, he tries to make any kind of noise on the slimmest chance that someone could hear him, but it’s all swallowed back down. He just groans wetly around the makeshift gag and prays harder than he ever has in his life for anything that God will get him out of here. Just make all this stop. 

But it doesn’t. “This is how this is supposed to feel, boy. This is supposed to hurt and I want you to think about that. Think about what you’re trying to turn yourself into and if this is how you wanna feel for the rest of your life.” 

Dale slams his hips forward and Matt’s entire world shatters. 

It hurts a thousand times more than what little he remembers of when Ryan was doing this. Matt isn’t numbed from alcohol and Dale didn’t bother to finger him or lube him up or anything first. It’s raw and it’s unloved and it’s careless and it hurts so much that Matt feels like he’s going to vomit. Everything is on fire. He wishes he would turn to ash and crumble, but nothing dies. He’s not that lucky. It just keeps burning. 

The edges of the belt cut into the corners of Matt’s mouth. It shouldn’t feel like much compared to everything else, but he still feels it. Every sense is heightened with this level of pain he’s enduring and Matt feels it to the minutest detail. The hard jut of the car seat that digs into him every time that Dale thrusts forward. The way his neck is cracked because of the belt. The awkward way his foot is twisted, trying to balance himself. It’s all that much more unbearable with every second. 

Matt doesn’t feel scared anymore, but he does feel this horribly numbness. It doesn’t kill the pain. That’s still ongoing. What’s numbed is everything internal. He’s still crying, tears sliding down his red, blotchy cheeks, but it just seems to be an involuntary response because he doesn’t feel anything anymore. Not fear, not anger, not sadness. It’s nothing. He feels a chasm inside himself that keeps opening wider and wider, swallowing his emotions whole, eating him alive. 

He vaguely hears Dale. He’s breathing hard and heavy, grunting when he thrusts in deep. Matt knows it’s not supposed to be like this. He knows it not, because even though it hurt when it first started, it wasn’t like this with Ryan. Most of it, anyway. It started to get better easily and Matt began to like it. And Ryan sucked him off while he was fingering him. It was nice of him. Ryan cares about him, Matt thinks. 

Dale isn’t being careful. This is violent. This is animal. Matt just groans into his gag, pained and gurgling, crying out when Dale gives a particularly rough thrust. There is some kind of dull pleasure beneath it all that Matt knows is building, his body enjoying some of the stimulation, and the fact that that’s happening at all is horrifying. 

His dick is hard. His dick is hard and it’s because his dad is fucking him.  _ Raping _ him. There legitimately is something wrong with Matt, something so wrong that it can never be fixed. He’s twisted and sick and God has cast him out. He’s so, so fucking ashamed and it feels like hives, a reaction that makes him feel ugly, makes him look ugly, all red and spotty and blotchy all over, completely infected. It seeps through to the inside. He has hives on his heart. He’s covered in his own mold. 

Dale doesn’t come inside him. Of course he doesn’t, because that would mean evidence. That would mean proof. Dale pulls out of him, suddenly leaving him empty and gasping. Matt hears Dale swear between his teeth. He feels a splatter against his ass, hot and slick. 

Matt doesn’t come, because he can’t bring himself to touch his dick. He’s painfully hard, but it’s nothing compared to how the rest of him feels. Dale releases his grip on the belt and Matt spits it out of his mouth, saliva pooling and dripping in fat threads on the upholstery. He’s panting and shaking so hard he can’t move. He’s slumped over in the car, aching and gaping, his legs losing any will to keep him upright. 

Dale leaves and Matt hears the passenger door click open. Matt thinks he falls asleep or passes out or something in the time it takes Dale to get back with napkins from the glove compartment, wiping the mess off Matt’s reddened skin. It’s not unkind. “Put yourself back together,” Dale mutters. “We’re going home.” 

Matt manages to push himself back up, stumbling a little. If he looks at Dale at all, especially in the face, he’s going to crumble to the ground. 

At the very, very least, his erection has started to go down. 

*

When his mother hugs him tearfully at the house, Matt is so cold that he doesn’t even react to it. 

“You had me so worried, baby,” she whispers, stroking his hair. “I’m angry because I thought you were hurt. I’m angry that you disobeyed me and you made me worry about you. I’m angry because I love you.”

“I love you too, Mom.” Matt sounds so hollow. He feels hollow. He wants to go upstairs and sleep and hopefully never wake up. 

Ann pulls away, cupping his face in her hand. Matt's eyes shift to the side because he doesn’t want her to see anything in them. “You know how much trouble you’re still in, don’t you, Matt?”

“He and I had a heart-to-heart, Annie.” Dale sits in an armchair, not quite looking at either Ann or Matt. “He knows what he did wrong. Go easy on the boy.” 

“He’s still grounded. You’re still grounded. At least two weeks. Your curfew is eight if you have to go out at all.”

That on top of everything else is just adding insult to injury, but Matt’s never going outside again, so it’s not like it matters. “Fine,” he mumbles. “I’m going to bed.”

Ann just gives him a sad, soft look and sighs. “Okay.” She gives him one last hug, squeezing him hard. Matt thinks about how easy it would be to snap his own bones. “I’ll wake you up for dinner if you fall asleep. I want you to really think about what you did and why you did it and when you’re ready to talk to me about it.”

“I will.”

Matt feels the absence of Dale’s eyes on him. He knows he won’t look at him. 

Matt doesn’t know if that’s better or worse. 

*

Matt takes two Benadryl and falls asleep so deeply that he doesn’t dream a thing for six hours. 

*

  
  


Matt wakes up at twilight. The sky has cleared up, but it’s deep and dark, orange and purple and blue rolling into each other, the sun sinking somewhere that he can’t see. 

It’s beautiful and everything, but it’s kind of hard to appreciate when he feels like a corpse. 

It hurts so much. It hurts more than anything that Matt has ever felt before. It’s throbbing. When he pushes a trembling hand down the back of the jeans he slept in, his fingers come away sticky with blood. 

His phone buzzes somewhere in bed. Matt sees the screen light up under the covers and he makes a lethargic grab for it, squinting at it in the near-darkness. 

_ Talk to me Matthew.  _

Before that, it had been  _ You ok? _ and then  _ I’m sorry  _ before that. 

Matt stares at them for a moment before unlocking his phone. 

He texts Ryan  _ can i call you? _

It takes all of eight seconds for Ryan to respond. 

_ Sure thing _

It takes another moment before Matt decides to actually call him. His lip quivers and he squeezes his eyes shut as the phone rings. 

“Hey, kid.” Ryan sounds so happy to talk to him that Matt breaks down immediately. 

He’s such a fucking baby. He wishes he wouldn’t keep doing this. Matt begins to sob his eyes out over the phone, rolling over and pressing his face into the pillow. 

“Matt? Matt, Jesus Christ, are you okay? Are you fucking dying or something? What’s happening?”

“I’m—I’m, u-uh, I’m, I’m fine.” Matt sniffles hard and chokes and coughs, whimpering much too loud. “Oh, fuck, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Ryan, I-I just—” He snaps again and his crying gets louder. 

“I, uh.” Ryan sounds like he’s panicking and Matt knows he’s not being fair to him. This is cruel. He feels worse. “Shit. Can I do anything for you? Like, now?” 

“No.” Matt only calms down when he remembers to breathe. His sobs subside and it turns into weeping instead, tears sliding down his cheeks. “No, you can’t—there’s nothing you can do.” He coughs a few more times before he’s able to talk again. “I-I’m sorry I yelled at you earlier. I wanna see you.” 

“I wanna see you too. Can you come over?” 

“No, I’m grounded. Like,  _ ‘I can’t get caught at all or they’ll fucking kill me’ _ kind of grounded.” Matt glances out his window at the sycamore tree in the backyard. There’s a set of branches that he uses to climb in and out of his window whenever he needs to be out during the night. In his sleep-addled, soupy, broken brain, he starts to piece together a risky and idiotic idea that makes his breathing shorter. “Why don’t  _ you _ come over?” 

Ryan snickers. “What?”

“Yeah. Come over. You can sneak through my window. There’s a tree outside—”

“Matthew, you know I wanna see you, but if you make me climb a tree to sneak in through your window, I’m never gonna wanna see you again.”

“Oh my God, it’s not that bad. Seriously, it’s like climbing stairs. It’s so easy. The branches are really stable.” 

Ryan’s quiet for a moment. “I’ll think about it.”

“Ryan, please?” Matt sounds so childish and pathetic when he starts to beg. His eyes well up again. “I just want someone to, like. Hold me. And listen to me. Please, please, please come over.” 

“Okay, okay, I’ll climb the stupid tree. What time do you want me to come over?”

“I dunno, I guess, like, now?”

“Uh… okay. Sure. I’ll be there in an hour.” 

“Thanks.” Matt doesn’t want to hang up. He can’t let himself hang up. “Um. I-I’m sorry I was crying in your ear.”

“I’ve heard worse. Don’t worry about it. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Okay,” Matt whispers. “Thank you.”

“Yep.” Ryan hangs up and Matt can physically feel the silence that follows. 

He thinks about his song again. Tweaks it a little. 

_ I want to come over _ _  
_ _ Please let me come over  _ __  
_ Why don’t you come over?  _ _  
_ __ You can come over whenever you want

He curls back up and feels the hives creep back over his body. 

*

Matt hears a snap outside, jolting him awake from a sleep he didn’t realize he’d fallen under. 

The sycamore branches rustle as Matt scrambles up. His balance is off and he more-or-less stumbles to the window. He throws it open and leans out, squinting in the dark.

The moonlight helps to give him a broader context. Ryan is dangling from one of the tree branches, struggling to pull himself up. He’s awfully close, but not close enough to grab the window. 

Matt starts to giggle despite himself. “Dude.”

“Gonna fucking kill you, Matt,” Ryan grunts, hooking his foot into a crook in between the branches. “Asshole, making me climb trees and shit for him.”

“Why the fuck did you wear flip-flops if you knew that you were gonna have to climb a tree?”

“It’s not about the flip-flops! I can do anything I want in flip-flops! The tree just sucks! Oh, fuck this.” Ryan finally heaves himself up and grasps at the window sill, glaring at Matt. 

Matt can’t get a grip. He keeps laughing. 

“Help me up, you little shit. Either you help me up or I’m leaving.” 

“This is, like, the first good thing that’s happened to me today. Gimme a break, man.” Matt hooks his arm underneath Ryan’s, pulling him forward. 

It’s not very graceful. Ryan falls into the bedroom, landing on top of Matt in a heap and pinning him to the floor. 

Matt groans, his lungs screaming underneath Ryan’s weight. He’s suddenly bruised everywhere. “Get off, get off, I’m gonna pass out, s’too much.  _ Ryan.”  _

“Yeah, well, your fuckin’ janky, pointy little knees almost went straight through me.” Ryan pushes himself off Matt, getting to his feet and nudging Matt’s side with his toes. “Get up so you can give me a kiss.”

“You  _ crushed _ my ribcage.” Matt sits up against the side of his bed, looking up at Ryan from the floor. “Thanks for coming over.”

“Thanks for letting me sneak into your room like a real-life child predator.”

“But you  _ are _ a real-life child predator, Ryan.”

“You say tomato, I say tomahto,” Ryan dismisses. “Why are you here in the dark at, like, seven PM? Does that have anything to do with, uh… what happened earlier?”

“Oh, yeah,” Matt says, his voice faltering. The hives start to burn. “I fell asleep and then I fell asleep again after I called you.” 

“Well, c’mon, let’s get some light in here. Got a switch somewhere?”

“I’ll get it.” Matt pulls himself up onto the bed and reaches across it to grab for the lamp. The bedroom floods with dim yellow light, illuminating Matt’s very own personal Peter Pan. 

“Messy little guy, huh?” Ryan remarks, taking inventory of the bedroom, his eyes moving from the walls to the furniture to the cluttered carpet under his feet. “Matt, who’s this?” he asks, grinning as he leans down and picks a stuffed rabbit off the floor. “Does this handsome little fella have a name?”

“Don’t, she’s, that’s, she’s a girl,” Matt splutters, trying to snatch the rabbit out of Ryan’s hand. “I-it’s a girl. Shut up, my parents are gonna hear!” he hisses as Ryan cackles, avoiding Matt’s swings. 

“She’s a pretty girl.” Ryan turns the rabbit over and sticks two of his fingers into a hole in her back, fingering the stuffing. “You ever fuck her?” 

“My grandma gave me that, you fucking freak. You’re gonna make the hole worse.” Matt yanks the rabbit off Ryan’s hand and sets her firmly on the nightstand, knocking a few water bottles to the floor. 

“I’ll make your hole worse, baby girl.” Ryan jumps on Matt’s bed and grabs him around the middle, pulling him close and smacking a kiss to his cheek. When Matt moves, he can feel that harsh twinge tie him up with pain. He freezes up and swallows hard. 

“Matt?” Ryan frowns and brushes his fingers through Matt’s hair. “Are you still upset?”

“I wasn’t for a second,” Matt says quietly. Being held  _ is _ making things better, but the hives still flare up further. He thinks his skin is permanently damaged. Like burns scabbed over but ripped back open, a soreness that bleeds and cries. 

He feels that familiar tightness in his throat. He buries his face in Ryan’s shoulder and clings to his shirt. “Fuck,” he manages. “It won’t stop.”

Ryan strokes his back. “What won’t stop?”

“It’s like…” Matt sniffs and shudders. “I don’t know. Um. It, like, it feels like—it feels like I’ve got hives. And it burns and it itches and shit, like, all over. I feel fucking empty and awful and everything hurts.” 

“What happened, Matt?”

Matt can’t say it. He doesn’t know how. He doesn’t want to believe it’s real. Maybe it wasn’t. He’d like to think it wasn’t, that it was a horrible dream, just a manifestation of already present issues and the shame he hasn’t been able to get over. The pain he still feels reminds him that that’s something he can’t delude himself into. 

As soon as he tries to talk, his throat sticks hard again. “I-I—I, uh—shit, it’s so hard,” he whimpers, his fingers curling into crawls in Ryan’s shirt. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know how to say it. My dad—” Matt’s stomach suddenly turns over and he has to take a second so he doesn’t throw up.”

“What about your dad?” 

“He, he, like.” Matt coughs and clenches his teeth. “H-he got so pissed at me. He, like, he said he knew what I was doing. And that it’s supposed to hurt. He bent me over and he—” He feels himself cave in, an involuntary gasp leaving him. “It hurt so bad. He put his belt in my mouth and I couldn’t scream. It still fucking hurts.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Ryan sounds so disgusted and horrified that Matt doesn’t even want to look at him. Ryan’s disgusted and horrified with something that happened to Matt. Matt’s tainted. He’s ugly. He’s been smashed to pieces and now he has visible cracks. “What the fuck? You have to call the cops. You have to tell someone about this. You can’t just let him do something like that.”

“I can’t call the cops! They’ll put him in prison, Ryan; they’ll  _ kill _ him.”

“He molested you!”

“But he’s my dad! And he’s Sam’s dad! And he’s my mom’s husband! Everyone knows him at church and around the neighborhood and everywhere else. If he goes to jail,  _ everyone’s _ gonna know what happened to me.”

“So you’re just gonna let him get away with it?”

“What else am I supposed to do? Like, I can’t  _ do _ anything. There’s nothing I can do. He, he just, he did it and now it’s over. I can’t do anything else about it. He’s my  _ dad, _ Ryan. He’s my dad and I can’t fucking do anything.” Matt starts to breathe harder and harder. He’s getting sicker and sicker. “This is so fucked up. This is so fucked up. I-I’m gonna be sick.” 

“What, like, you’re gonna throw up?” Ryan pulls back just enough to watch Matt’s face anxiously. “Right now?”

“No. I don’t know.” Matt’s shaking again. “I don’t know what to do,” he says, his voice wavering. “Everything’s ruined.”

“Jesus, Matt, I wish you would tell someone,” Ryan mutters, hugging Matt close again. Matt feels too tired to cry, his eyes dry and raw from doing it so much earlier. “Get, I don’t know, help, at least. You’ve gotta be in a lot of pain.”

“I—I don’t know, I guess I’ll just—I’ll wait for it to go away.” 

Ryan sighs. “Matt, I get it, it’s your dad, but what if he does this again? What if he does it to, like, your sister? Or anyone else?”

“I… I don’t know. I don’t wanna think about it.”

“If you don’t tell someone and someone else gets hurt, don’t you think that might be a little bit on you?”

Matt looks up, his heart twisting. “Would it?” 

“I mean, you could’ve told someone and he could’ve gotten put away. Or you don’t and he hurts someone else.”

“Oh,” Matt utters. “I guess I didn’t think about that.”

“You’ve gotta think about things like that. I think you should talk to someone about it.”

“Okay.” Matt doesn’t want to and he doesn’t think he will, but he doesn’t want to fight. “I’ll… I guess I’ll find someone.” He wants to get lost in the fabric of Ryan’s shirt. He wants to seep into the fibers. He clears his throat. “Thanks for not being weird. Or, like. Thinking I’m bad. Or gross.” 

“Why would I think you’re gross? It’s not like you asked for it. I told you, nothing about you is bad. You’re not a bad person. I don’t even know if you’re capable of that.” Ryan strokes his fingers through the short, cropped hair on the back of Matt’s hair and kisses his temple and it’s so tender and romantic that Matt could very well start sobbing again. 

“Why do you like me so much?” Matt whispers. 

“Hmm,” Ryan says, like he has to think it over. Maybe he does. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s your voice. I like the way it cracks. Or maybe it’s your eyes. They’re so,  _ so _ blue and, like, they trust me for some reason. I can tell. Maybe it’s your hair, Matt, and how soft it feels.” He ruffles his fingers through it. “Maybe it’s a little bit of everything.”

Matt remembers asking Jackson last Sunday about if he’s special after all. He knows he shouldn’t ask, he shouldn’t, it’s embarrassing, it’s needy, it’s childish— “Do you think I’m special?”

Ryan smiles at him like sunshine. “Of course, Matthew. Of course I think you’re special. I don’t climb trees for just anyone.” 

Matt smiles back, a little watery and twitchy. “I’m, uh, I’m glad you did it for me.”

“I’d do anything for you, baby.” Ryan tips Matt’s chin up and kisses him gently, just the slightest pressure of his lips. Matt’s shocked by how easily he, himself, gives into it, especially given everything that happened today. 

His parents are downstairs. Neither of them know that he has a man in his bedroom. There’s a man in his bed,  _ Ryan _ in his bed, and Matt can kiss him all he wants. Matt’s father doesn’t know that Matt is kissing a man in his bedroom.

_ “I know whoever you’re sneaking out to go see, the filthy fucking queer that you’re letting touch you, he doesn’t make you feel good, Matty. It ain’t natural and you’re not supposed to like it. I know it’s gotta tear you up whenever you let it happen.” _

Dale doesn’t know anything. His dad doesn’t know shit and he doesn’t deserve to know shit. He’ll never know anything else about Matt ever again. Matt won’t talk to him. He won’t look at him. He already has a man in his life and it’s Ryan. He doesn’t need anyone else. If Matt wants to let Ryan touch him, he’ll let Ryan touch him. He can do whatever the fuck he wants. He’s fifteen. He’s not a child anymore. If he were a child, he couldn’t do this at all. 

If Matt wants to shove his tongue down Ryan’s throat, he’ll do it. And he does. Matt rips the tie out of Ryan’s hair and fists his hands into the thick waves that fall through his fingers, tilting his head so he can deepen the kiss, licking Ryan’s teeth. His heart is absolutely pounding. He could do anything he wanted in this bed. He could let Ryan fuck him in this bed. 

“Matt, holy shit,  _ ow.” _ Ryan yanks back to swipe the back of his hand over his mouth. It’s bleeding. Matt bit him hard enough to break the skin. “You little freak,” Ryan giggles. “Oh my God.”

Matt’s breath catches. “D-did you like it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I did. Just didn’t think you’d be that zealous. You fuckin’ attacked me.” Ryan kisses him again and this time, Matt can taste the wet, hot copper under his mouth. There’s something really, really hot about it that he can’t identify. 

Ryan lets Matt kiss him like it’s violent. Matt’s unpracticed and he doesn’t know what he’s doing. All he knows is that he wants more. He wants something to hurt, but he wants it to hurt right. He wants to be the one who hurts himself. He wants to bait Ryan into hurting him. He wants to control it. He sucks on the cut on Ryan’s lip, breathing heavy in between kisses, going all too easy when Ryan urges him down against the bed. 

He loses himself so seamlessly that he barely hears the footsteps on the stairs. It’s only when the fifth step creaks that Matt notices it and breaks away with a gasp, shoving at Ryan’s shoulders. “C-closet, get in the closet, now, fuck, get in the closet!” 

Rather than try to snipe back or tease Matt, Ryan does as Matt says immediately, climbing off the bed and tripping over clothes and empty cans and bottles on the floor in his haste to hide himself away. As the bedroom door swings open, the closet door swings shut. Matt yanks a comforter over his lap just in time to conceal himself from his mother. 

“Dinner’s just about ready, sweetheart.” Ann places her hand on the door frame as she frowns at Matt. “Your face is really, really red.”

“I, uh, I just woke up.” Matt rubs his eyes under his glasses and sniffs to try and sell it better. “I got, like, that weird post-nap fever.” 

“Uh-huh.” Ann strokes her thumb over the door frame, just watching Matt for a moment. She sighs. “I wish I didn’t have to worry about you so much.”

Matt really isn’t ready for a heart-to-heart. Not after today and especially not with his not-boyfriend hiding in his closet a mere few feet away from his mother. “Sorry. I, like, I know I’ve been acting out lately, I guess. I don’t know. I feel lonely sometimes.”

“No, I know. I know why. You’re just getting to that age. You know, right now, it’s more important than ever that you trust me and your father.”

Hearing that goes down like poison. “Yeah. I know,” Matt says anyway. 

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“I hope so.” His mother spends another moment trying to pick something out of his face that she can toy with. He doesn’t think she finds anything. “You feel like eating?”

“Yeah, in a minute. Thanks,” Matt says softly. 

“I love you, baby.”

“Love you too.” 

She doesn’t close the door, of course.  _ Every fucking time.  _ Matt watches the sliver of her back return downstairs and he holds his breath as he counts the seconds after she disappears entirely. 

“You can come out,” he finally says, nearly overcome with anxiety again. “Fucking Christ, that was awful. You gotta leave.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice. You keeping someone’s fuckin’ body in there or what? Smells like shit, Matt.” Ryan loops around the bed to the window as Matt makes a face at him. 

“You sure I can’t take you home?” Ryan asks with his hand on the window sill, giving Matt big, sad puppy-dog eyes. 

“Yeah, I’m sure. But, uh, you know, soon.” Matt gets to his feet so he can kiss Ryan again. Just as a formal goodbye. He thinks it’d be rude if he didn’t do it. The soft sound that Ryan makes before they break, all pleased and warm and luxurious, makes Matt feel like he’s on top of the world. 

“I’ll text you later.” Ryan pulls himself up and over the window sill. “I’m still waiting on those pics you promised.”

Matt blinks, blushing pink. “What pics? I didn’t promise anything.”

“Trust me, Matt, you did.” Ryan winks at him before ducking down and climbing back to solid ground. 

“‘Night, Ryan.”

“You’re gay,” Ryan gives him in response before swearing, the branches rustling. Matt giggles, finally remembering what it means to be happy again. 

The floorboards outside his bedroom wheeze. Matt whips around just in time to see Sam duck her head, nervously tucking her hair behind her ear as she rushes down the stairs. 

_ Fuck. _


End file.
